


Mare Genius

by Samarkand12



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic), My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 03:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 29,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14607789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samarkand12/pseuds/Samarkand12





	1. Introducing our Heroi--Mare?

  


  


  


Being an ancient being of chaos trapped in the prison of a stone statue sucked.  
  
Being an ancient being of chaos trapped in stone while delicious, hilarious strife was happening not far away was suction to the billionth degree.  
  
Discord seethed as he sensed the battle raging in Canterlot Castle between the changelings and his "beloved" ponies-cum-favorite targets. Oh, how he wished he could join into the fun. Queen Chrysalis and her ilk would have been perfect allies--well, until he had them eaten by marshmallow parakeets--to teach Celestia a lesson about doing this to him. Instead, he had to stay in this calcified form on the sidelines. It wasn't fair!   
  
Wait.  
  
The magical barrier around Canterlot was weakened.  
  
He couldn't do anything impressive. It wouldn't be focused. But Discord was not the only being that truly terrified a nigh-immortal avatar of the sun for no reason. Subtle mischief would do when fancier tricks failed. He had just enough power--  
  
\--to SHOW THEM ALL!  
  
+++++  
  
_Chaos writhed and slipped through the cracks in the fabric of reality._  
  
_Not quite sentient, the impulse of a trickster abomination obeyed the dictates of its creator: SHOW THEM ALL. It flitted through thousands of different realities in nanoseconds._  
  
_In a direction not comprehensible to most beings limited to three-dimensions, it found the agent of chaos that would fulfill its creator's wishes._  
  
"Alright do it! And get back!"  
  
_Such madness! Such potential! And that was the **HEROIC** personality dominant at the moment. The one suppressed within her mind was even better!_  
  
"Got it!"  
  
_The spell sensed the wonderful evil come free of its shackles. It reached out and--_  
  
_Discord's spell was imperfect. It activated just on the cusp of transition. The wrong personality was copied into its structure and sent back to Equestria._  
  
_Well. Perhaps not. Certainly Agatha Heterodyne would serve to create more than enough chaos by herself..._  
  
_Deep in the mountains northwest of a small town in Equestria, a small form shimmered into being._  
  
_Green eyes opened._  
  
"Ow."  
  
++++  
  
Agatha's mind whirled with confusion. One minute, she had been strapped down into the Si Vales rig whle Violetta tore away the locket. The idea was for her less-than-beloved mother to take the psychic stress and agony of the hideous resurrection procedure; Agatha's own psyche would have been safe from the shock of untold amounts of current blasting her. Well, that was the intent. It would have worked. Probably it did. But she certainly wasn't in the Great Movement chamber of the Castle.  
  
Glasses, glasses, where were her glasses?  
  
Ah! Good. Agatha fumbled with her hooves to hook her glasses behind her ears. The world came into focus. How in Europa had she ended up here? "Here" being a steep-sided mountain valley barren of trees save for a few conifers. The Castle and the town itself were nowhere in sight. Had there been an explosion? No! Gil! Tarvek! The others! After all that she had gone through, only for them to--  
  
Er.  
  
Agatha held up her arms.  
  
Correction: her forelegs, at the end of which were aforementioned hooves.  
  
She had the only reasonable reaction under such circumstances.  
  
**_"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"_**  
  
++++  
  
And thus begins a new life for one Agatha Heterodyne--  
  
**MARE GENIUS!**


	2. Filly Steps

Standing shakily on four legs, Agatha reviewed the modified quadrupedal locomotion script she had fixed into her consciousness. It turned out that whatever mind transfer technique had put her into this body had not granted her the instinctive knowledge of how to move it. Her first few attempts at walking had been rather painful. She had given up relying on her own instincts, instead drawing upon her clank programming skills. Modern clanks were collections of modeled animal behaviors acting in a subsumption architecture. Presumably the same synthetic behaviors could be applied to the organic form they had been originally based upon.  
  
Right foreleg like this, left like that, don't think, let the script run and the brain adjust for outside variables.  
  
Clip-clop.  
  
Hmmm. It seemed to be working, perhaps she could try a trot ARRRGHHHH--  
  
Agatha groaned as she lay on her back, legs twined up in a Gordian knot.  
  
Simple steps. Very simple steps.  
  
++++  
  
Okay, that was an improvement. Agatha walked up and down the valley without adding to the many bruises all over her body. It had only taken her about three hours. She rewarded herself with cropping at a sparse patch of grass by the banks of a stream. At least she wouldn't starve, though she assumed she was restricted to the vegetarian option. She didn't sense any evidence that she could sprout tentacles and fangs like that dreaded horse beastie.  
  
There was no question the new abode of her mind was a construct. Agatha studied her reflection in the surface of the stream. Features that were equine yet subtly anthropomorphized stared back at her. Real ponies did not have muzzle structures so rounded, or eyes so large. The effect was that of a child's idea of what a horse looked like. The strawberry-blonde mane was much longer than any horse's that she had seen. Equines generally also didn't have cowlicks that stuck up from between their ears. Experimentally, she swished the flowing tail at her rump. Such an odd sensation! Agatha tested the range of motion in her limbs. They had an almost human dexterity. Horse anatomy wasn't her strong suit. But she was sure no real one could tap a hoof to their chin.  
  
Her mother must have thought this quite the joke. Tears shimmered behind her glasses. They had lost. Somehow, Lucrezia had broken free and transferred Agatha into this ridiculous organic prison. Who knew what had happened to Moloch or Violetta or Tarvek? As for Gil-- Oh, yes, Mother Undearest would have Big Plans for the heir to the Wulfenbach Empire. Agatha stamped a hoof. Joke? She'd show Mom how funny it was. A flush of rage glowed through the light-brown fur covering her cheeks. She still had her mind. She still had Zeetha's training. She would track down Lucrezia and smash in her own former skull if need be. Snarling, Agatha kicked at a sapling with a back hoof.  
  
*SNAP*  
  
Make that a stump. This body certainly was strong. Excellent muscle to mass ratio.  
  
Yes. Not helpless at all.  
  
++++  
  
It wasn't too bad, actually.  
  
Agatha had managed a slow trot an hour into her walk. Normally, she would have been breathing hard at such a pace. Her pony body had increased stamina as well as strength. She wouldn't bet on her condition handling a gallop. But a steady, distance eating pace suited her form rather well. Her senses were so much sharper! Her nose picked out smells that her old form might have missed. She could swivel her ears about to catch sound coming from all directions. Perhaps she could find a way to keep these abilities when--not if, when--she copied a new human body for mind transfer.  
  
Because there was no way in Hades she was going through life without hands.  
  
Agatha spotted the mine entrance when she came around the curve of the river. She had elected to follow the path of the stream. Zeetha's instruction hadn't included just savage stick beatings. There had also been basic survival tips. A stream meant a water source. Water was far more important than food. Agatha's body could deal with starvation for much longer than it could dehydration. As well, water courses also meant the potential for human settlement along their banks or boat travel. Ha! Zeetha had been right. Agatha would thank her personally for it! Her advice had lead her right to other humans--  
  
Agatha Heterodyne lived in a Europa where the weird was commonplace. Ponies coming out of mines? Quite understandable. They were used all the time to pull ore carts or work in treadmills. The unusual variation of coat colour in these pit ponies was odd. Not too odd considering vitalism science. That they wore miners hats with electric lamps on top could be explained. As could the fact several carried pickaxes and other tools that were perfectly sized for pony use. Sparks came up with the weirdest ideas at times. That they could talk perfect English wasn't anything conclusive. Her chief political advisor and sovereign was a hyper-intelligent cat.  
  
So why did she have a horrible suspicion matters were very wrong?  
  
Ah. Yes. The pony with the horn sticking out of its brow, with a blue radiance surrounding the lunch bucket floating beside it. The unicorn.  
  
Oh, scheisse. 


	3. Meeting the Locals

Agatha shook off her paralysis. Dealing with the sheer insanity of a British telekinetic unicorn would come later. They were intelligent. They had the trappings of technological civilization. That meant they might have some way for her to get back home, mein Gott where had she ended up, this couldn't be--  
  
Fifteen equine heads turned as one.  
  
Agatha froze. The last time she had seen expressions of that sort had been in the audience during "The Sprocket Wrench of Prague".  
  
"A MARE!"  
  
++++  
  
Raindrops streaked down Agatha's glasses. The expression of cliche pathetic fallacy in terms of weather and mood fit perfectly. Now she had absolutely no idea where she was. The chase over hill, dale, chasm, and sundry geographic features from a herd of lust-crazed stallions had gotten her more lost than ever. There hadn't been time to apply Zeetha's lessons in landmark memorization while alternately galloping and lashing out. That last unwanted suitor had gone down to a rock clumsily wielded between both forehooves. She had finally climbed up onto this crag to find some way of gaining her bearings. Then she had seen the night sky. None of the stars were in recognizable constellations. The moon's few markings were different.  
  
Either she was in a nightmare, locked in her mind while Lucrezia free or--  
  
\--or she was in another world.  
  
Lightning crashed.  
  
Wait, if she could see the sky all around her, then why was it raining right atop her?  
  
Agatha stared up at the tiny raincloud perfectly sized to drench only her.  
  
Oh, come on!  
  
A small object bonked off her forehead. A bone? It was raining bones. Oh lovely, she might as well be back in Der Kestle already. She absently noted the bloody skull was either lapine or a field rodent. She would have to do a closer examination to be sure. Craned over the side of the cloud was an over-sized avian head. It had the majestic white plumage and golden beak of an eagle. Easing out from under miniature cumulonimbus, she studied the creature further: golden raptor's claws and brown feathered legs and wings, set upon a lion's body. In short, she was looking at a classic griffin. It didn't have the cobbled-together look of the example of one she had seen in the TPU Biological Sciences Museum. It has a natural appearance.  
  
Also, it was sitting on the cloud as if it were a couch.  
  
"What, never seen anyone eat meat before?" the griffin said.  
  
"Vell, yes," Agatha said, carefully constructing her response. She was literate in English, though rusty in spoken form. "I've just never seen anything quite like hyu."  
  
"What kinda hick burg are you from, sister?" the griffin said.   
  
"Very far away from here," Agatha said, trying to parse the creature's idiom. "Have you ever heard of Transylvania? Mechanicsburg?"  
  
"Never heard of 'em," the griffin said, tearing the flesh off a half-eaten rabbit. "You're in the mountains south of Canterlot. Nice job with those stallions."  
  
"That vas not the first--" Agatha narrowed her eyes. "You were vatching that travesty and didn't help?"  
  
"Didn't want to spoil the show." It screeched in laughter. "Funniest thing I saw all year. 'A MARE!' Those miners don't get much female companionship, yanno. You could've let 'em catch you. Would've gotten some gems out of it."  
  
"I am not a wo--uh, mare of easy virtue!" Agatha said, stomping a hoof.  
  
"With those colts, wouldn't have been easy." The griffin pinched her beak. "Peee-yu. Bet they haven't bathed in months."  
  
"Glad I entertained hyu." Agatha trotted off. "The show's over."  
  
"Hey, I'm not done with you yet." In a flash, the griffin had landed in front of her. I's beak somehow curved into a cruel smile. "Tell you what. Eat this, and I'll give you a hint where to go."  
  
"I'm not in the mood for games." Agatha jerked her head back from the bloody rabbit corpse. "And I've already eaten."  
  
"Just a little bite." The griffin waggled its half-eaten meal. "Bet you can't, you dumb blank-flank mare."  
  
Dumb?  
  
_Dumb?_  
  
**_This impertinent little bully had called her an idiot?_**  
  
Agatha clamped the shredded lapine in her mouth. With a wrench, she pulled free a large chunk. Her herbivore teeth made poor progress with the meat and bones, but she had little problem grinding her jaw together with enough fury to make it palatable. She knew she would regret it later. She swallowed it anyway. The griffin's air of amused superiority faded to shock as Agatha took another bite. Then another. Agatha smiled through bloodied teeth and lips after she had left her tormentor with only half a hindquarter left in its claws.  
  
"If you'd had a fire," she said, "and some spices, I could haff cooked up a decent hassenpfeffer. As it is, I'm still feeling hungry. I feel an urge for poultry tonight."  
  
The griffin blinked.   
  
"Okay. You are officially not lame," it said.  
  
"Eh?" Agatha checked her legs. "No, I don't think I hurt myself during the chase."  
  
"I mean, that was awesome." The griffin curled up one set of talons. "Only pony I ever saw eat meat ended up puking up a mouthful after she had to pay up a dare."  
  
"Give me time," Agatha said, her stomach already sounding warnings. "Is there something I'm supposed to do? A custom?"  
  
"Tap a hoof to mine." The griffin screeched, this time in laughter. "For that, I'll put you up in my aerie. 'Snot far. Don't worry, I won't gobble you up. That's old mare's tales about us griffons."  
  
"Ah--" Agatha considered. Her life to date had taught her never to turn down help. "Alright. But no more of that. I've had a very, very hard day."  
  
"Nah, we're cool. Name's Gilda."  
  
"Agatha." 


	4. Carried Home to the Nest

Kinda, huh, chunky," Gilda said, gasping a bit. "You might want to lay off the hay fries."  
  
Agatha bit back the urge to snap back at the griffon's remarks about her robust figure. There was no sense in alienating the sole halfway-friendly person she had found in this world. In truth, Gilda had put herself to some trouble. Her aerie was a cave several meters above the ground with no path leading up to it. The griffon had had to fly Agatha up clutched between her front legs. She noted in the back of her mind that Gilda was very strong, and that there was no way out of her home that didn't involve a dangerous plunge. A bit of Krosp's cynicism had rubbed on on her after two months.  
  
The cave was much better appointed than she had expected. Gilda lit several candles placed in niches in the cave wall. The candles didn't have the distinctive scent of tallow. If this world were dominated by ponies, Agatha guessed they would choose beeswax or some sort of plant extract over rendered fat. More importantly, Gilda lit the candles with matches. There were other signs of technology: an iron stove in one corner, rough yet serviceable wooden furniture with nails, and an icebox. The huge nest at the back of the aerie had fluffy pillows and a cheery white-and-red checked blanket. It was further evidence that this world wasn't primitive. It had science.  
  
There was a chance she could find a way home.  
  
Her stomach rumbled.  
  
One amenity Gilda's home lacked was a water closet. Rushing to the cave mouth, Agatha suffered the consequences of a herbivore eating most of a rabbit. Gilda handed her a mug full of water after the assault on her digestive system was finished. Clumsily, Agatha held it between her forehooves as she drank. The earthenware cup had a quite human handle. It was of a piece with the oddities in the furniture: it wouldn't have been out of place in a Europan peasant's home. One might have thought a society of intelligent animals would have built things differently. Agatha was able to sit comfortably enough while Gilda roasted sausages in a skillet. It turned out they were vegetarian, though well-spiced with pepper and salt. Gilda ate with knife and fork. She didn't bat an eye when Agatha tucked in sans utensils.  
  
Hands. Oh, this would be a problem!  
  
"So what are you doing out here?" Gilda asked.  
  
"I just woke up in a valley not far away," Agatha said, before cautiously grasping an opened bottle on the table in her mouth. "mmmppphh...nnnphhhh...verdamnt!"  
  
"Wow, you're like a three-day-old cub," Gilda said. "Complete spaz."  
  
"'Spaz' as in 'spasm'?" Agatha mopped up the spill with a napkin. "Ach, danke."  
  
"Donkey? Where?"  
  
"Very funny." Agatha sighed at Gilda's confusion. "Sorry. It means 'thank you' in one of my native languages."  
  
"So you're an egghead, huh?" Gilda snapped up another sausage. "I didn't think those could buck stallions so hard they never wished they were born."  
  
"Where I come from, you learn to be quick. Or dead."  
  
"Weird hearing a pony say the D-word." Gilda flicked a talon dismissively. "Most of them are goody horse-shoes. So, a smarty-pants."  
  
"I'm a scientist," Agatha said. "I make things, if I have the tools and can learn how to use them with these ridiculous things on the end of my legs."  
  
"Don't have anything like that here." Gilda paused. "Only places near here that've have stuff like that is Canterlot or Ponyville. I get it. You probably want to head out to be with the rest of the lame-o's."  
  
Gilda preened her feathers as if nonchalant, but Agatha had seen that expression before.  
  
She has worn it much of her life, before finding her friends.  
  
"I couldn't enjoy better company," she replied, "while I get my hooves under me."  
  
"No pressure." Gilda shrugged. "Don't mind if you want to hang for a while."  
  
"Well, I should pay back your hospitality somehow," Agatha said, noting that "hang" in this context meant socializing rather than execution. "I don't see a piano about. At least I can tell some stories from my homeland, if you're interested."  
  
"This isn't going to be sappy fairytale stuff, right?" Gilda sounded more disgusted than when Agatha's pipes had been backing up.  
  
"Minimal sap. Unless you object to tales of high adventure."  
  
"You don't say?" Gilda grabbed a book on an empty stool with her tail. "I love the _Daring Do_ series. Get a new one every time I visit Cloudsdale."  
  
"Something like this, yes." Agatha hesitantly flicked the pages with the pointy front edge of a hoof. These creatures had printing presses and books. Libraries... "Let me tell you a tale about the Heterodyne B--Colts."  
  
"This had better not be stupid."  
  
"Trust me."  
  
+++  
  
"Gilda?" Agatha looked down from the table where she had assumed a dramatic pose.  
  
White feathers were all that were visible from where the griffon had hidden behind her nest.  
  
"Ach, I forgot I really get into the role sometimes," Agatha said, hoof to face.  
  
"Are you nuts? Don't stop!" Gilda popped up, golden eyes wide in wonder. "That was sheer, complete, Sonic Rainboom with an Immelman finish cool! I have to hear the end of it!"  
  
Agatha smiled. If she had to be Sheherazade again--  
  
"One cannot be corrupted by science, and _science alone is my master._ "


	5. Seeing the Sights

_Assume wingspan is approximately 1.5 meters--_  
  
The chalk between her front teeth scraped over the cave wall.  
  
_\--weight estimated at 140 kilograms, based on what can be recalled from encyclopedia entries back home of similar examples of genus_ Panthera _, although Gilda's avian characteristics may include hollow bones--_  
  
The rock was covered with calculations, free-hoof mechanical diagrams, and stranger things.  
  
\-- _must ask if there are any anatomical models of her species for examination of skeletal structure and muscle arrangement, the combination of avian and feline morphology must be **fascinating--**_  
  
Hooves flicked the beads of an abacus.  
  
_\--starting figures are likely wildly inaccurate, but based on my assumptions, the lifting force a griffin can produce in order to fly a pony weighing mumble straight up for a distance of five meters is--_  
  
The figure that emerged at the end of a calculation that took of a square half-meter of rock made no sense. If Gilda was capable of that much lift with her wings, then her chest muscles would be roughly the size of Castle Wulfenbach. Ordinary scientists would have sat down and wept at the impossibility. Agatha didn't. The phenomenon existed. Therefore, a theory explaining it could be made once enough observations and variables were factored in. She already had several hypotheses. Unicorns were apparently capable of telekinesis. Griffons might have that ability in some form--mass reduction, gravitic manipulation, _amazing potential_ \--that didn't manifest as an aura.  
  
As once was said, a bumblebee couldn't possibly fly under then-current aerodynamic models. Which had lead to several Sparks creating clockwork half-living bumblebee clankstructs, much to the regret of everyone when the inevitable weaponization occured. The Apiary Wars of 1811 had been one of the less pleasant periods during the Long War. The honey produced had been inedible, though some interesting plant species had arisen as the bees had obeyed synthetic pollen-gathering instincts.  
  
"Whoa." Gilda blinked sleepily, head rising from her pillow. "What the hay is that?"  
  
"Some time-wasting." Agatha gestured at the table. "I helped myself to some of your breakfast things. I put the milk back into the icebox."  
  
"Must have found my old school stuff." Gilda traced an exploded diagram. "This looks like one of those airships the Canterlot 'corns are making. They're just big balloons with boats or baskets hanging from them."  
  
"You've developed non-rigid airship technology?" Agatha washed her mouth clean with a sip of milk. Note--invent fountain pens. Further note--invent hands. "We've had those for centuries in Europa. It was the Montgolfiers and De Roziere who perfected the first dirigible with internal framework."  
  
"Is this--" Gilda peered closed. "Something about griffin claws and a saw and...sewing...needles..."  
  
There was a significant pause in which Gilda edged ever so slightly towards the cave mouth.  
  
"I don't conduct vitalism experiments on my friends." Agatha considered her words further. "Correction: I don't conduct unauthorized vitalism experiments on my friends unless they're in mortal danger, or random vitalism experiments at all unless on cadavers. So you won't be waking up to me with a saw in my mouth and a crazed smile."  
  
There was a further stretch of silence.  
  
"You have a clear line of escape." Agatha stepped clear. "I'll show myself out of you're too afraid to be near me."  
  
"Fffffft. Like you're psyching me." Gilda fluffed her head feathers with talons that only shook a little. "Nice try, sister."  
  
"Lucrezia Mongfish from the story was my mother," Agatha replied flatly. "She was a Spark, and not a nice one. So am I, though I hope I take after my father Bill instead."  
  
Another long silence.  
  
"So, did I pass the test," Gilda finally said, "by sticking around? Or fail by not flying off when I could?"  
  
"Pass and fail." Agatha twisted a hoof in a halfway motion. "Sparks like me get somewhat obsessed when we become involved in our work. That leads to, er, a little bit of madness. Actually, a lot. If you hear me humming, don't interrupt. It's like interfering with a sleepwalker who might fly into a homicidal rage."  
  
"Yeah, total fail," Gilda said. "Why are you telling me this?"  
  
"You come across as arrogant and a potential bully," Agatha replied. "You also gave hospitality to a stranger in need. You may become a friend. If you'll be spending any time around me, this is what might happen."  
  
Gilda narrowed her eyes. Then she screeched in wild laughter.  
  
"You're seriously wacko, pony. But you're alright!"  
  
++++  
  
The important thing was to remember that Gilda could fly in defiance of known physics models.  
  
Agatha jerked one of the ropes comprising the improvised flight harness a little tighter. She was sprawled on Gilda's back with hemp linking them at chest, belly, and haunches. Her four legs clamped tight around the griffon's leonine body, eliciting an annoyed grumble. Gilda's front talons scratched the cave floor. Her back paws propelled her from a crouch with the power a mundane lion would use to leap upon a gazelle. Air rushed, the bottom fell out of Agatha's stomach, feathers rustled as wings ended to their full span. Then they were out in the sunlight and flying.  
  
So this was why Gil had been obsessed with heavier-than-air flight. Agatha grinned as her mount executed a deft bank no airship could do. The two of them spiraled up upon a thermal which brought them clear of the mountaintops. One could see for tens of kilometers all around. Below them was a mountain range mirrored by another, separated by a broad and fertile valley. Agatha could make out fields and houses and-- Ah, perfect! A town at the southern end of the valley at the edges of a great forest. A railway line ran along the eastern edge of the valley; a locomotive puffed far below, pulling a train. North was an even more impressive sight. A great city of white stone clung to a mountain at the northern mouth of the valley. It rose to a fairy-tale castle.  
  
Glorious!  
  
Gilda's wings flared as she landed upon a cloud high above the landscape. It sank a bit beneath her weight like a featherbed beneath a sleeper. Agatha waved a hoof through the apparently solid cloud. It was so much water vapour to her touch. Gazing about, she noticed other figures flying about the airspace. Her eyes widened behind her glasses. Ponies with improbably small wings actually _pushing clouds about, they must be able to interact with clouds in some way. **If they can manipulate clouds then they can affect meteorological conditions, ach look at that, a pegasus was bouncing on a black cloud to rain upon a field. Oooooo, her brain was spinning at the insanity this meant for this worlds physics. It also implied huge advantages in regards to agriculture and country-wide climate control--**_  
  
A wing smacked the side of her head.  
  
"That the humming I should be worried about?" Gilda asked. "Thought I'd smack some sense into you in case you stepped off. You'd fall right through and go splat if you did."  
  
"You're learning," Agatha said, head swiveling like a devil dog seeking a target. "How do you do this?"  
  
"Magic."  
  
"Magic." Agatha frowned. "Is this 'magic in that we have no explanation and it work's because it does', or is there a set of articulated theories--"  
  
"Slow down, I was all about the practical in school," Gilda said. "Weren't kidding about being a nutty egghead. Anyway, magic's magic. Big force that lets sky creatures like us control the weather and stand on clouds, Princess Celestia make the sun rise, yadda yadda."  
  
"Pardon me," Agatha said, "but are you implying this Celestia can actually telekinetically control the movements of a star?"  
  
"Yeah, she used to do both sun and moon," Gilda said, "but then her sis Luna came back after a thousand years. Some kind of big fight between them. Luna's not evil anymore, so she's taking care of the night."  
  
Wind whistled past them.  
  
"Agatha?"  
  
"I'm having a massive existential breakdown of my paradigms." Agatha was surprised that she was as calm as if hit by Cookie's nutmeg-laced pies. "Don't mind me. Oh, is that an entire city in the clouds over there? Quite impressive."  
  
"That's Cloudsdale." Gilda shifted beneath her. "I better get you back to the lair before--oh, no!"  
  
A sound akin to an engine's roar broke through Agatha's shock. Something blue flashed past them with a polychromatic light flaring in its wake. Gilda crouched in an attack posture. Verdamnt! This world seemed so peaceful. Was this creature a rival predator species of some kind? And her without a handy--er, hoofy--death ray. Mmmm, if and when she had a chance, working out the trigger and stock ergonomics could be tricky. The griffin snarled when it backwinged into a hover in front of them.  
  
It was a pegasus. The sky-blue mare's mane and tail were tinted in the classic colour progression of a rainbow. Clan markings? Or natural hue? Up close, her wings were absurdly small to support a creature of her size and weight. The analytical portion of Agatha's mind calculated how much this magic would compensate for mass, aerodynamics, and velocity. The pegasus had streaked by incredibly fast. Faster perhaps than Gil's flyer, which had an engine which she still thought could be much more simplified once they had some free time. Odd markings on each flank at her hindquarters depicted a rainbow lighting bolt arcing down from a white cloud.  
  
Cerise eyes glared at them with venemous hate.  
  
"Gilda."  
  
"Raindork."  
  
Agatha realized she was high above the ground, attached to a creature confronting another who had assumed a classic territorial-protection aggression response.  
  
Uh-oh. 


	6. A Sense of Deja Vu and Plummeting

"What are you doing around Ponyville?" the pegasus said.   
  
"It's a free sky, 'Crash'," Gilda replied. "Not like I'm waiting for you to come back from Lame-o-Town. I'm up here with my new best friend, who's fifty times cooler than you ever were. Make that a hundred!"  
  
"Ah, if there's an argument you two need to settle," Agatha said, "it might be best--"  
  
"So you found another pony to fool," the blue pegasus spat out. "You gonna treat her like you did me? Be nice while you steal and yell at my friends?"  
  
"Used to like you because you were better than all the earthworms," Gilda replied. "All you ended up doing was wasting my time. So make like a fly and buzz off!"  
  
"--to discuss your differences calmly, on the safe--"  
  
"Like you said, free sky." The pegasus crossed her forelegs over her chest. "I've got my eye on you. I'll be watching you all day, to see you don't shove your weight around."  
  
"--solid--"  
  
Talons swiped at cyan fur.  
  
"HEY! Watch it, you nearly cut me!"  
  
"Meant to, 'Dork!"  
  
'--ground--"  
  
A hoof lashed out, punching Gilda in the beak.  
  
"Try that on for size, birdbrain!"  
  
"It's on!"  
  
*TWANG*  
  
Gilda and the pegasus froze in mid-fight at the sound of rope parting under stress.  
  
++++  
  
Air whistled past Agatha's ears.  
  
"I've got you," the pegasus said, forelegs twined around Agatha's midsection.  
  
Agatha still had an excellent view of the ground. Which was looming ever closer.  
  
"No, I've got her," Gilda said, talons clutching her forelegs.   
  
"Anyone's going to be doing the saving here it's me, Rainbow Dash. Best flyer in all of Equestria."  
  
Agatha did some calculations in her head involving gravity, air resistance, and impact velocity.  
  
"She's my friend, you lame featherduster!"  
  
"Jerk!"  
  
Mmmm. They should be all be able to survive impact with the--  
  
"Loser!"  
  
"Bully!"  
  
*SPLASH*  
  
\--river.  
  
++++  
  
Well, she had been hoping for a bath.  
  
Agatha dragged Gilda onto the river bank with teeth clamped around the griffin's tail. A smack with her hoof to where fur met furthers on her companion's back send a torrent of water out of her beak. Rainbow Dash had managed to crawl out by herself. The pegasus wobbled in circles, eyes rolling crazily in their sockets. Shaking her head, she struck her head several times with a back-hoof. A small fish popped out of her left ear. Agatha noted that the concussed flying pony nosed it back into the river. It waved a fin back in gratitude before diving beneath the surface.  
  
Agatha looked around the surrounding landscape. When not trying to kill her, it was idyllic in a way she had never seen in Transylvania. Split-rail fences and stone walls delineated the bounds of farms with produce that seemed to burst from the ground. The agriculture here was a mix of ploughed fields and orchards. The barns and farmhouses gleamed with paint, rather than the often dilapidated appearance of peasant holdings back home. The air of this land was peaceful. That was a fortunate thing, as it kept Agatha's thoughts away from such notions as ovens and carving knives and stuffing.  
  
"Awwwwk." Gilda staggered upright. Her once-majestic plumage was now more bedraggled chicken.  
  
"Good to see you awake," Agatha said. She clopped her forehooves together. "Are you alright?"  
  
"--dumb--Crash--all--her--" Gilda slumped down. "Ugh."  
  
"I knew you might have less than redeeming qualities," Agatha continued. "Still, I appreciate all the trouble you've gone to shelter me and show me your native land. Which is why I'm going for a little walk instead _dropping a house on you._ "  
  
Gilda froze.  
  
"And I've done it once before, too." Agatha shook her pelt free of water. "I don't like bullies, and I really don't like thieves. Don't ask what we did to them in my old home town. I think your actions were mischief rather than malice. And they're in the past--aren't they?"  
  
"Yeah, sure." Gilda grinned nervously. "That was just chick stuff. All behind me. Uh--really drop a house on someone?"  
  
"Admittedly it was a small one." Agatha sighed. "Let's meet here again at sunset, alright."  
  
"Sure." Gilda's wings drooped. "Uh--sorry?"  
  
"The word gets easier to say with practice." Agatha nodded at the rainbow-maned pegasus. "You might want to try it with her."  
  
Agatha turned and headed for the dirt road a few meters away. It was a well-maintained thoroughfare rather than the rough tracks she had navigated with Master Payne's Circus. That was of a piece with her impression of this Equestria. It was at peace. The government had the means and--more importantly--the will to maintain infrastructure. Having the sheer power to fling around celestial bodies no doubt helped in warning off foreign armies. Agatha couldn't take Gilda's statement at face-value. The supposed powers of these princesses could be religious superstition. But--well, this was a world where creatures could stand on clouds. She shouldn't have such a flexible mind that she could tie it under her chin. She also couldn't afford to dismiss anything as impossible.  
  
And as a Europan Spark, what was possible was much broader in scope than the usual definition.  
  
Agatha broke into a jaunty trot as the noises of angry argument and shoving broke out. Gilda and this Rainbow Dash would no doubt sort things out one way or another. The strawberry-blonde maned pony nodded to farm-ponies working in the fields. How strange. They smiled at first, then stared in shock at her hindquarters. What on earth had brought on that reaction? She paid more attention to the others. Every single one had those flank marks by each hindquarter, except for the children. Correction: fillies and colts. Keeping to the proper terminology was important. She couldn't afford to stand out too much.  
  
It must be some sort of caste or tribal mark, although there wasn't any consistency among them. Gilda had referred to her derisively as a blank flank. This might cause unwanted comment. Agatha pressed a hoof to the golden ring of fur around her neck, with a patch that reproduced the trilobite sigil. She had assumed at the time the mark had been a dire joke on the part of Lucrezia. It might be enough to convince Equestrians it was her land's equivalent of a flank mark.  
  
Suddenly, she froze.  
  
None of the ponies were wearing clothes. Many of them were quite obviously stallions.  
  
More to the point, she wasn't wearing clothes.  
  
Oh, sweet lightning--she WAS NAKED!


	7. To the Rescue

Refined unicorn ladies did not do anything so common as get drunk, nor did they suffer hangovers the following morning. They became giddy, and later felt delicate. Nestled deep her bed, Rarity was a glass slipper being tapped ever so lightly. The _ting_ resonated through every cell of her body with the finality of the world's doom. She had been so elated at catching the bouquet at the wedding in Canterlot that she had celebrated. First champagne with Fancy Pants and Fleur, where she had secured many requests for her haute couture. She was bound to remember those. Eventually. Then wine with her friends. And then there had been a grinning Applejack holding out a Mason jar decorated with a triple X. The contents were notorious throughout Ponyville as "Zap Apple Horse Liniment".   
  
Yes. Very, very giddy.  
  
Er. The last she recalled before being hustled on the night train back to Ponyville was singing a hilarious song with Fluttershy about....hedgehogs?  
  
Rarity did not possess Pinkie Pie's eerie precognitive ability. However, in her own sphere of influence Rarity had considerable powers. Blue, slightly bloodshot eyes widened when her horn glowed. Someone was in trouble! She was in a fashion crisis. No, a fashion catastrophe! No! Worse than that--more depraved than Discord, more insidious than a changeling invasion! It was a FASHION APOCALYPSE! TO ARMS, SHE MUST BE SAVED!  
  
Rarity did a quick mirror check.  
  
But not, she decided upon seeing the horrors inflicted upon her mane, like this.  
  
Thankfully, a champion had returned home with her.  
  
"Spikey-wikey!"  
  
++++  
  
A purple dragon with green spikes stepped outside the Carousel Boutique. Dangling from one claw was a spool of thread with a needle thrust through it. The enchanted needle spun before settling in one direction. Spike slipped on a pair of shades. Somewhere, on the mean streets--well, pretty cheerful if one was honest--was a lost soul in need of rescuing. He had a full belly of gems and doughnuts, he was on a mission from Rarity, and he was wearing sunglasses. Time for Spikey-Wikey to do what he did best.  
  
Yeah.   
  
Hit it.  
  
Just not too hard, because that'd be mean and everything.  
  
++++  
  
The slightly bustling metropolis of Ponyville had the naked mix of normal and whimsy that characterized this world. Agatha stood naked naked naked in the central square of the town. All around her naked naked the inhabitants went about their business naked. The architecture was similar to Transylvanian villages: half-timbered houses with thatch roofs. They were spaced farther apart and naked than the close-packed streets she would have seen in Beetleburg. There were decidedly naked strange takes on the Europan architectural vernacular. One shop was shaped from the second floor up as a jester's hat. Another building had been designed with confectionery on the brain. A tree with doors, windows, and naked balconies integrated into its structure was a fascinating naked example of bio-artificing naked naked naked.  
  
Agatha was aware that she was preoccupied. Nay, even obsessed. It did not help matters that Equestrian ponies did wear clothes. Most were like her MEIN GOTT NAKED. But several of the traders in the market stalls wore aprons. Several customers sitting at haystack chairs at a nearby cafe had fetching hats which would not be out of place on a Parisian boulevard. The general custom when it came to fashion seemed to be a garment which covered the front half of the body, leaving the hindquarters bare and naked. Agatha's sickly smile became ever more frantic as she cast about for something--ANYTHING--to cover herself with. Oh look. A rain barrel! She sidled over to it. It wouldn't be stealing. She was a pony in need--  
  
"Are you the pony I'm looking for?"  
  
Agatha looked down. Purple scales, green spikes, lizard morphology.  
  
It was a dragon, with a spool dangling from its claw.   
  
"Are you here to announce," Agatha asked, "that I have a great destiny which will decide the fate of thousands, while those who oppose me will hunt me down should I fail?"  
  
"Uh....no?" The dragon scratched its head. "I was sent by Rarity out with this magical fashion compass. You have some kind of clothes related problem?"  
  
"I'M COMPLETELY NAKED!" Agatha screamed, shaking the little dragon between her forehooves.  
  
Crickets chirped.  
  
"Ah-heh." Agatha grinned at the now-staring crowd. "This Rarity--she sells clothes, then?"  
  
"Only the best fashion designer in Equestria!" The dragon puffed out its less-than-impressive chest. The effect was of a scaly pigeon. "Name's Spike. Hey, are you Germane? I head that accent up in court when Twilight and me were living in Canterlot."  
  
"Sprechen sie?" Agatha said.  
  
"Ja." Spike continued in...Germane? Ach, the pun! "There's also some Maregyar in your accent, too. Pretty cool combination."  
  
Agatha followed Spike through the morning throng of Ponyville. The others didn't pay her much attention despite her outburst. Perhaps they were used to crazy pony outbursts? Several did react to her unmarked flanks. Well, if pressed, she could say that she came from a remote region of--Germaney?--where flank tattoos weren't practiced for religious reasons. The dragon lead her a short distance to another of Ponyville's whimsical buildings. It was akin to a castle keep constructed of wood, with a festive paint scheme of blues and violets. A yellow carousel horse was painted above the doorway; several more were mounted on the posts surrounding the narrower second storey. It was quite cheerful, really. As if it were out of a child's storybook.  
  
Agatha's thoughts about public nudity were shunted aside by the realization.  
  
Talking ponies. Mythological creatures. The fairy tale nature of the land.  
  
It really was as if she was in a young girl's fantasy. Well, not the ones she had had. They had involved gears and steam engines--  
  
The interior of the dress shop more than matched the outside. Violets and purples dominated the colour scheme, including the drapes covering the arched ceiling from top to above the windows. The effect was akin to standing inside the royal pavillion of the House of Valois. Rococco gilt frames around the mirrors and the ornate designs about the changing screens enhanced the French motif. Or was it, in this world, Prance? As her Hassidic aquaintances back home might say: "Oy". Carousel ponies acted as dress dummies. Here and there were salon tables and racks of clothes. It was all much more haute couture than usual for Agatha. Lilith had usually sewn the family's clothes herself from bolts of cloth bought from the market.  
  
With a flourish, a delicately-framed unicorn with a pearl-grey coast and limpid blue eyes stepped into the main room of the boutique. Her eyelashes and the flowing, curled purple mane and tail were a decided contrast to Agatha own tousled mane and stubborn cowlick. Oh, no. Was this another Zulenna? The shop owner's demeanour was far friendlier than the haughty princess of Holfung-Borzoi had been on first meeting. With a studied flourish--as an actress, Agatha recognized the signs of a dramatic performance--this Rarity waved a foreleg with grace at her sole customer.   
  
"Welcome to the Carousel Boutique," Rarity said in a plummy British accent, "where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique--OH DARLING, I'VE RESCUED YOU JUST IN TIME!"  
  
Agatha yelped as an aura surrounded her, picked her up, and plopped her at a salon table.  
  
"Spike! Tea and biscuits!" Rarity commanded, eyes full of concern. "Sit still, it will be alright. Rarity will take care of everything. What tragedies you must suffered!"  
  
"I did fall in a river--"  
  
"Shhh!" Rarity pressed a hoof to Agatha's lips. "Say no more. We will not discuss such painful horrors. No, there is only the future. I am sure Aloe and Lotus can accomodate you at the spa at short notice."  
  
"Spa?" Agatha shook her head. "Frau Rarity, I have no money--"  
  
"Don't speak of lucre, darling," Rarity said. "This is my duty! I cannot, will not let a fellow pony suffer!"  
  
Behind her, scissors and curry combs and hair brushes rose into the air.  
  
It was eerily similar to Der Kestle's personality fragment in the kitchen, levitating all manner of sharp objects to julienne the cook.  
  
"First," Rarity said, eyes becoming blued steel, "your hair!" 


	8. FASHION!

Scissors snipped.  
  
Combs teased out knots and tangles.  
  
*SPROING*  
  
A cowlick sprang back, marring the perfection.  
  
++++  
  
*SSSSSS*  
  
Agatha coughed as several pressurized cans sprayed a substance which solidified her mane into a style akin to one of the Zumzum Town Guard's helmets.  
  
*SPROING*  
  
++++  
  
Rarity removed the last of the curlers, revealing a flowing cascade of curls which--  
  
*SPROING*  
  
"Grrrrrrrrr."  
  
++++  
  
"Is that a Vohlman Class Three Resurrection Circuit?" Agatha asked  
  
"Now just sit still," Rarity said, attaching several alligator clips, "while Spike plugs this into the lightning rod. We'll have the pegasi summon a teensy little lightning storm so this WILL NOT DEFEAT ME--"  
  
Agatha had spent enough time around Sparks--and herself--to spot certain telltale warning signs.  
  
"Hold it."  
  
+++  
  
Before her time with the circus, Agatha had never paid much attention to primping rituals. Cosmetics were verboten. Only the lowest class of jezebels would use such things, according to the rigid dictat of Lilith. Agatha herself was usually too busy rushing to class to do more than a token pass with the hair brush. Even her experience on stage had been with quick, deft applications of lip rouge and blush between scene changes. So lying on a fainting couch in the middle of the Carousel Boutique was rather decadent. Three of her hooves were immersed in green liquid, while Spike worked away at a fourth with a farrier's file. Lime wedges had been placed beneath each eye. Her mane and tail were bound up in towels. Her coat had been brushed into a lustrous gloss.  
  
Rarity herself was in the midst of what she called Her Art. Bolts of fabric were draped over the dress dummy horses. Quill and parchment floated in mid-air as Rarity drew tens of sketches. It was very much like Agatha's own idle doodling at the start of a project. Nothing concrete. Nothing settled. Simply the brain buzzing on the cusp of the Madness Place, idly doodling out a gearbox design or steam-powered ballista. Rarity was quite like a Spark in that way. In others, too. Every so often she draw a cowlick being attacked by ever more emphatic methods of hairdressing--including sickles and axes--until a harrumph from Agatha derailed that train of thought. It appeared talking pony fashion designers had a certain obsessiveness shared with the mad rulers of Europa.  
  
"Oh, I see several possibilities," Rarity said, floating a tape measure over. "Such a robust earth pony physique. Enough of a barrel to be substantial, with an underlying tone to your muscles to lend definition. It would be so boring if everyone was like moi."  
  
"I had a determined personal trainer," Agatha said, submitting to the scrutiny of a floating tape measure. "And dodging rotary cannon fire burns off the calories."  
  
"I've never heard of that exercise routine," Rarity said.  
  
"It's specialized."  
  
"For you, muted yet rich colours." Rarity whipped off the towels, revealing a mane and tail combed into flowing glory. "Magnifique! Yes, you are most definitely an autumn. Lawn green, perhaps we might risk a seafoam for formal outfits. Yet simple must be our watchword."  
  
"You are very perceptive, Frau Rarity," Agatha said.  
  
"It's your hooves," the unicorn explained. "You work with them. There's a--I hesitate to use the word, no offense intended--coarseness to them that is distinctive. It is common among earth ponies. Not that one must sacrifice sophistication over function!"  
  
"I'm a mechanic," Agatha said. "Frills and such are dangerous when one is deep in the guts of a machine."  
  
"With the--" Rarity's right eye twitched. "Grease. And oil. And--"  
  
"Rarity? Deep calming breaths," Spike said.  
  
"Of course." Rarity reared back. "I-DEEE-AAAAAH! Inspiration comes! Oh, you will adore it, darling.'  
  
"You're quite good at that," Agatha said to the dragon. "Are you a trained minion?"  
  
"Twilight'll love that. 'Bestest ever minion'." Spike smiled ruefully. "She's my adoptive big sister and head librarian over at the Books and Branches. She can also get a little bit twitchy--"  
  
"Say no more," Agatha said. "I've been a minion myself."  
  
Head librarian? That would be most useful. Agatha had been musing about her predicament in between MEIN GOTT NAKED thoughts. What had happened to her was not possible even under the scope of SCIENCE! Transmission of consciousness across the barriers separating universes? Just on the edge of probability, given what she suspected may be the mechanism behind Lucrezia's summoning engine. Time was technically a dimension. But energy-to-matter transformation that could create a complex host body for that consciousness out of thin air? That had to be magic. At least, it was the most likely cause Agatha could think of. If magic were as studied here as SCIENCE! back home, then there was a chance she could return there.  
  
If her friends weren't already dead or wasped or on the run--  
  
Tarvek would have really liked Rarity.  
  
A triumphant shout brought Agatha out of her funk. Rarity gestured at a carousel horse with the aplomb of Master Payne performing one of his grand tricks. Sweet lightning--in her own field, the elegant unicorn was a genius worthy of comparison with any great Spark. The outfit posed on the dummy had the slightly rough appearance of a prototype model. Yet it fulfilled the unicorn mare's promise of fashion and function. The green boiler suit offered coverage from the tops of her hindhooves to halfway down her forelegs. Dozens of pockets with flaps secured with snap-closures offered storage space without being safety risks. Integral bandoliers around chest and flanks and a belt around the midsection were hoofy places to keep tools for immediate use. What appeared to be leather patches were actually some sort of analogue that reinforced key areas. A matching flat cap with a trilobite badge embroidered in gold completed the ensemble.  
  
"Ta-dah!" Rarity winked. "What do you think, darling?"  
  
"SQUEEEEE!"  
  
"Of course you're delighted," Rarity said. "Now, fabric choice will be a challenge. I've never worked in this area of design. Oh, this will be fun. There has to be a balance between strength, stain resistance, and freedom of movement. And it must breathe, you have such a lovely coat that it would be a crime for it to suffer a rash."  
  
"I can't accept this, Frau Rarity," Agatha said. "I have no money."  
  
"Tut! What is money when it comes to art?" Rarity flipped her mane. "I charge my elite customers many bits so that I may have the resources for those in need. Why, this might even be the start of entirely new line: Smart Clothes for The Working Pony!"  
  
"Ooooo." Agatha's smiled of delight widened in a way that would have sent any of those who knew her scurrying for safety. "Do you do... _labcoats?_ "  
  
"I do now!" Rarity's grin widened in a way that definitely sent Spike backing away.  
  
" _We must start immediately,"_ Agatha said, mind whirling at the potential intersection between textiles and chemistry. " _Together, we shall shatter the bounds of fabric design. Nopony knows what will be wrought--_ "  
  
*DING DONG*  
  
"Pardon me, mail calleth." Rarity opened the door. "Why, Derpy, what have you brought me today?"  
  
There was a brief scream as dozens of scrolls buried her alive.  
  
"Rarity? Speak to me!" Spike frantically dug the unicorn free.  
  
"Ptooo." Rarity spat out a rolled parchment. "Ah, it seems that I've solicited a few more commissions at the wedding last night than I expected."  
  
Rarity's ears drooped as she took in the sheer number of orders, and the rough work awaiting her attention on the dress dummy.  
  
"I can do this." Her voice lacked sparkle. "It make take some--oh, this is so much, Fancy Pants wants an entire ensemble for Fleur--"  
  
"Not again," Spike said, wincing.  
  
"It's fine, Rarity." Agatha laid a reassuring hoof on one pearl-grey shoulder. "Attend to your paying customers. My outfit can wait."  
  
"I'd hate to disappoint you." Rarity's eyes had shrunk to pin-points. "I really really would."  
  
"I came here nervous and terrified," Agatha said. "I'm leaving calmer than I've been in a long time. I'm leaving your shop having found a new friend."  
  
+++  
  
Agatha studied the exterior of the Carousel Boutique as the sound of a sewing machine running at high speed came through the windows.  
  
Sewing machines. Gears. Steam engines. Pascal's work on automated weaving machinery.  
  
A complex hum escaped her lips.  
  
"You were pretty good in there yourself," Spike said, interrupting her reverie. "Rarity's the most generous mare I know. That's got her in trouble at times when she promises too much."  
  
"I've been known to do the same myself," Agatha said. "Perhaps you could assist me. Do you have any books in your archives on Equestrian textile technology?"  
  
" _Warp and Weft: A Loom Compendium,_ " Spike replied a split second later. "I am Twilight Sparkle's bestest minion ever. Any reference you need, I'm your dragon."  
  
"Excellent," Agatha said. "Now, do you have any information on transdimensional harmonics and spontaneous teleportation in regards to aetheric manifold transforms?"  
  
"Uh." Spike paused. "I might have to send out to Canterlot for an inter-library loan. Or check Twilight's personal collection--"  
  
*THUD*  
  
Dust rose several meters away. Out of it came an equine form with a polychromatic mane, ruffled wingfeathers, and a blackened left eye.  
  
Oh, dear. It seemed Rainbow Dash and Gilda had decided to resolve their differences with what appeared to be an emphatic approach to reason and tolerance.  
  
"HEY YOU!" The pegasus snorted and stomped her hooves. "Gilda's friend! I've got my eye on you too! Don't even think of trying anything in my town!"


	9. Browsing the Stacks

Agatha had lived under a cloud for most of her life. Her reputation for clumsy ineptitude had been legendary at Transylvania Polygnostic. This was the first time that the cloud had been literal. Rainbow Dash followed them on a small cumulus that hovered a few meters above the rooftops. The suspicious pegasus had somehow found a pair of field glasses, and for some reason had applied brown-and-green streaks of war paint on her face. None of the other residents of Ponyville gave her antics much notice beyond a few puzzled glances. Agatha herself had earned some whispered comments of disapproval. Lovely. Gilda had not made many friends here.  
  
"Will you do something evil already? I'm getting bored up here."  
  
Note to self: develop anti-air cannon at earliest opportunity.  
  
Her draconic guide seemed to take it all in stride. Either he was more trusting than the others, or Agatha's behavior towards Rarity had offset Rainbow Dash's accusation. He lead her to the library with no obvious concern. Up close, the Books and Branches was even more impressive. The tree-house's balconies and windows seemed to have been grown into place rather than added by saw and hammer. There were few examples of such exacting arboritecture in Europa. Magic must be especially suited for working with organic materials. Had an existing tree been reshaped? Or was this the work of decades of attention, growing it from an acorn?  
  
Opening a door emblazoned with a lit candlestick, Spike ushered her into the main room of the library. Charming! The circular reading room occupied most of the space within the trunk. Shelves full of books lined every available wall-space; they clearly were part of the library's structure rather than hollowed out. Most of the furniture rose out of the wooden floor. A large over-sized knight's chess piece occupied pride of place at a table in the center. Stairs projecting from the inner surface of the trunk lead up to what seemed to be the librarian's personal quarters on the second floor.  
  
" _Warp and Weft_ ," Spike said, climbing a ladder up to a high shelf. "We also have a copy of the _Steers and Roebuck_ catalog in Circulars, if you want to order tools. I don't think Twilight will mind if you look at her scientific supplies catalog."  
  
"Your mistress sounds like quite the intellectual," Agatha said. "Excuse me for asking, but why did she come to this village?"  
  
"Oh, Princess Celestia ordered her," Spike said. "You probably heard the story of how they banished Night Mare Moon from Princess Luna. Part of the plan was for Twilight to study the magic of friendship. It's how she ended up meeting the others."  
  
Agatha pondered this.  
  
"It took a direct order from the sovereign of this country," Agatha finally said, "to conduct a formal scientific study of friendship for her to engage in social interaction?"  
  
"Aheh." Spike ran claws through his spines. "Twilight's focused on her studies. Really, really focused."  
  
"Mmmm. Like Rarity and tiny flaws?" Agatha regarded the books. "I see your mistress has everything carefully organized."  
  
"Reshelving Day is the highlight of each month." Spike shook his head. "She's loosened up since she came here two years ago, though."  
  
"I had a lot of trouble making friends," Agatha said. "In my case, we moved around a lot. And I was considered a freak and failure."  
  
"Because you don't have a cutie mark?" Spike asked. "Ponies are usually friendly. They can get scared of the out-of-the-ordinary. Ask Zecora about that."  
  
"My Equestrian is still limited." She hoped this would work. "Could you tell me what a cutie mark is?"  
  
"I know there's words for it in Germane and Maregyar," Spike said, taken aback. "You know--the symbol that appears on a pony's flank whenever he or she finds out their special talent or passion?"  
  
"Ah." Agatha touched the golden sigil at her throat. "Then this is where my 'cutie mark' appeared."  
  
"A cuttlefish?"  
  
"It's a trilobite," Agatha explained. "It's the symbol of my family. It symbolizes the legacy of my father and uncle. Everything I've suffered, and everything I will overcome."  
  
"It sounds like the Apple Family," Spike said, examining her mark with renewed interest. "By the way, are you going to be staying in Ponyville? It'd be great if Twilight had another school-pony to talk with."  
  
"You're not concerned that I may be an agent," Agatha said, "of a devious plot by Gilda to take over Ponyville?"  
  
"That's Dash for you. She can hold a grudge." Spike shrugged. "She's probably also keyed up from the fight against the alien horrors that tried to psychically eat Equestria-- Ooops, gotta go, I had to leave Fluttershy here when we brought her back."  
  
Alien horrors?  
  
Circulars was in a second room off the main chamber. Agatha flipped through stacks of back issues of the _Ponyville Express_. The most recent edition revealed that creatures called changelings had attempted an invasion at a royal wedding. Posed on the front page as the local heroes who had aided in the defense were six mares. Rainbow Dash posed self-importantly hovering above them, forelegs cocked to show off her muscles. Aggressive and a braggart, it seemed. But this Dash and her friends were clearly heroes. Flip. "Parasprite Invasion, Local Baker Saves Town with Music". Flip. "Local Mares Negotiate With Sleeping Dragon". Flip. "Discord Sealed Away by Elements of Harmony". Flip. Two things became clear. One, Twilight Sparkle and her circle were incredibly important.  
  
Two, she needed to add some defensive measures to the planned renovations of the Carousel Boutique.  
  
Equestria was a bit more like home than she had thought.  
  
Hooves clip-clopped down stairs. Agatha looked out through the doorway Spike was helping a much-worse-for-the-wear mare down from the bedroom at the library's second story. She was one of the ponies in the group picture--the one hiding behind her long mane. Red fire, she was the most adorable creature Agatha had ever seen. Her mane and tail were a pale pink, with her main coat the yellow of a buttercup. Three butterflies fluttered on her rear flanks. Ah--this must be "Fluttershy". Appropriate name. Agatha wondered what her talent was. Leptidopterist? Or was it metaphorical? Rarity's three diamonds hadn't steered her into a life as a jeweler.  
  
The brave mare must have suffered a terrible shock in the--  
  
"The song," she said in a voice barely louder than a butterfly's flapping wings. "I sang the song in front of everyone."  
  
Limpid blue eyes suffused with existential horror gazed at Agatha.  
  
"Even the verse with the platypus."  
  
Fluttershy fell over on her right side, cataleptic, with a goat-like bleat. 


	10. Cha-Cha-Cha

The earth ponies of Applelachia were renowned for their skill at distillation. The product of the family still was never sold. It was made for those special occasions when a hoe-down needed a little extra buck. Each matriarch of a family had their own secret recipes, handed down from elder to filly. The specialty of the Apple Family of Ponyville was Granny Smith's Zap Apple Horse Liniment. Known ingredients of the mash included the year's best barrel of cider, molasses, zap apple jam, and literal moonshine. Granny's still was only fired up on nights when the wind was blowing away from the town.  
  
Applejack tugged her Stetson lower over her eyes. She reckoned that Twi's insistence that Princess Celestia could only exist on a high pedestal, perfect and darn near holy, was a mite off the mark. It had been the Princess herself who had asked Applejack to bring a couple of mason jars of Granny's finest. Whoa nelly. That stuff certainly helped blow off the tension after that tussle with those nasty changeling critters. Worth having Chief Thunderhooves stampedin' through her brain. She was taking the slow way back home in the back of a hay wagon drawn by one of her cousins. Twi and Pinkie were taking the train home later in the day. Twilight because she was visiting her folks. Pinkie was sleeping off a cupcake eating contest with Princess Luna.  
  
Some party. Last memory from that was her, Rarity, and Fluttershy singing-- Uh. Just like biting into an apple and seeing half a worm, Applejack realized that she'd been singing That Song that Granny always did whenever the fumes from the still made her more peculiar than usual. Applejack's understanding of certain things usually covered by taking a filly behind the barn and explaining that those dogs weren't fightin' had been expanded considerably.  
  
Yup. Def'nitely a-goin' to Tartarus.  
  
++++  
  
Agatha had never expected her second day in another universe to include tending to a catatonic pegasus. Tea towel in her mouth, she flapped it at Fluttershy while Spike attended to brewing tea in the library's kitchen. A small retinue of woodland animals chafed the traumatized pony's hooves and chittered what appeared to be words of encouragement. They included three squirrels, a badger, two birds, and a white rabbit. The rabbit waved smelling salts by her muzzle with little effect.   
  
Spike came out with a fine tea service that wouldn't have been out of place in Lilith's parlour. Strangely enough, the teapot and cups had curving handles better fit for human hands rather than hooves. Unicorns could levitate such objects with no problem, but it pointed to a human influence that was out of place in an equine world. Right out a children's book, indeed. The dragon poured a cup of a light herbal tea that smelled of spices and flowers. Fluttershy roused somewhat as the steam drifted past her nose. Her reaction was to flip her mane over her face and cower into a tiny ball.  
  
"I should leave," Agatha said.  
  
"Oh, don't leave on account of me," Fluttershy whispered. "I'll go into a corner and tremble in shame very quietly. I don't want to put you to any trouble."  
  
"Had a bit...much, last night?" Agatha asked, mindful of times when student were rowdy in the streets after tavern-crawls.  
  
"All I did was sniff the jar," Fluttershy said. "And then Applejack was singing, and I didn't want to be rude, and then I said all those words in front of everyone."  
  
"It can't be that bad," Agatha said, stroking the girl's mane.   
  
Fluttershy mumbled out two lines involving a platypus and an act of advanced contorsionism.  
  
"Ha." Agatha tugged a non-existent collar. "Well, I once had to perform in a play involving amusingly oversized tools. My lines were recited out of context to prevent spontaneous combustion."  
  
"You're a showmare?" Fluttershy peeked out from her pink locks. "You're so very brave. I couldn't imagine standing in front of everyone."  
  
"The first time is the worst," Agatha said. "In my case, I thought someone in the audience would run out and stab me on stage."  
  
"So how do you do it?" Fluttershy asked. "I was so clumsy when I was a filly that I hate performing in front of other ponies. My animal friends are more understanding."  
  
"For me, it was losing myself in the story," Agatha said. "It helped I'd been reading Heterodyne B--Colts stories since I was a girl. The audience disappeared while I was in character."  
  
"Listening to stories during sleepovers is fun," Fluttershy said. "But you must think I'm a terribly naughty mare for saying those things."  
  
"I've heard worse," Agatha said.  
  
"Oh, you couldn't have," Fluttershy said, cringing. "Begging your pardon, I don't mean to say I doubt you--"  
  
Nothing for it.  
  
Agatha repeated what she had heard her first time as Madame Olga.  
  
"Um." Fluttershy cocked her head. "That's much worse."  
  
"I know--" Agatha gulped. "Ah, Herr Spike--"  
  
*FWOOSH*  
  
"I don't have any idea what you were talking about," the little dragon said, the scroll burnt by his flame becoming a sparkling green mist. "Maybe the Princess or Twilight can explain it to me. Are the Heterodyne Colts stories any good? Never heard of them."  
  
"You'll find them stimulating," Agatha said. "Unless you're too disturbed by thrilling tales of adventure, Fluttershy."  
  
"I'll be brave." Fluttershy shuddered. "No dragons, please. Especially big, growly, hungry dragons."  
  
"'The Heterodyne Colts and the Turbines of New Atlantis' it is."  
  
A creak came from above. Agatha glanced up at one of the windows high above. A cloud had obscured the light from that direction. Fine. She was under surveillance. Stubborn verdamnt flying irritant. Well, if she was going to introduce this world to the exploits of Bill and Barry, a library was most appropriate. Spike had quill and parchment ready to record her tale. Agatha wondered what sort of spell he had cast on the other parchment. Hopefully for all concerned it had been consumed utterly.   
  
++++  
  
"Mornin', Dash," Applejack said. "Ah don't suppose you've seen Fluttershy? Ah owe her one big--"  
  
"Shutupshutupshutup!" Rainbow Dash said, head stuck through a library window. "She's getting to the good part!"  
  
"What in tarnation are you talkin' about, sugarcube?"  
  
"You've got to listen to this!"  
  
++++  
  
Princess Celestia was in the midst of mid-day court when the scroll puffed into existence before her.  
  
Hmmm. As far as she knew, her most faithful student was still in Canterlot.  
  
Perhaps Spike had sent along a friendship report from one of the other Elements Bearers of Harmony.  
  
With her usual tranquil smile, she unrolled the scroll--  
  
Her ethereal mane exploded into a fair impression of a dandelion clock hit by lightning.  
  
"FORTY THREE HOURS? ONLY ONE SPOON?"


	11. Paying It Forward

*tock-tock-tock*  
  
Agatha hid her unease of nails being pounded into her hooves. Applejack was a competent farrier. Well, it would make sense for a pony to know best how to shoe themselves! Still, the comparison with sharp metal objects smacked into a body part was disturbing. Agatha was not religious--at best, a vague Deist--but she had attended enough church services to make the experience disturbing.  
  
At least it was a chance to see a pony at work with tools. She watched the orange, freckled mare wield hammer and rasp in her mouth. Several nails were held between her teeth and tongued into place when needed. Every so often, Applejack would wipe her face with a rag. She balanced it on her hoof in a deft manner. Fine motions like this would take a lot of practice; simply turning a book's page was an exercise in mild frustration. Applejack's skill was a promise that Agatha really wouldn't have to resort to ye olde saw. That would be awkward. She would have to ask Rarity for help with the stitches.  
  
The final nail was tapped home. Agatha tested out the second-hand horseshoes Applejack could spare. It wasn't any more noticeable than wearing boots. She took a turn around the barnyard to check for any problems. All around her was the abundance of Applejack's farm. The mare had invited her to Sweet Apple Acres after apologizing to Fluttershy over her song choice from last night. The great orchards spread out over the fields and hills that dominated Applejack's property. Smaller only by comparison, gardens were planted with other crops doubtless intended for the table of the large barn-like farmhouse. Chickens pecked and pigs rooted in a sty.  
  
Hmmm. Either ponies could stomach bacon, or else the swine were garbage disposal.  
  
"Apple tart?" Applejack offered a treat balanced on a hoof. "Right out of Granny Smith's oven."  
  
"Danke!"  
  
"Donkey?" Applejack tipped back her slouch hat. "Where? Ah swear, if them mules are rustlin' from our trees--"  
  
"Never mind." Agatha's taste buds danced in delight. "This as good as my mom's papanasi."  
  
"That's home-cookin' for you," Applejack said. "Nothin' better'n hoof-made, Ah say. Nothing better'n hoof-made with Sweet Apple Acres apples."  
  
"Ponyvillians seem to be so generous," Agatha said, licking her lips. "I'll pay you back any way I can."  
  
"Shucks, weren't nothing," Applejack said. "Couple of mah old shoes, is all. What the hay, I count bits more'n anyone Ah know. That don't mean you have to be stingy. Kindness paid is kindness returned. We could use another mechanic 'round here."  
  
"I suppose this is as good a place to stay," Agatha said, looking around the landscape. "I'm used to small towns. I spent most of my life in Beetleburg."  
  
"Big cities mean big problems," Applejack replied, with the certainty of one who's found her place in the world. "Now, Ah ain't speaking against city-folk. Takes all sorts. All Ah know is that places like Manehatten are lonely for a single pony trying to make her way in the world."  
  
"I'm less lonely with each hour I spend here," Agatha said.  
  
"Mmmmhmmmm." Applejack munched an apple. "Hear you're staying with Gilda. Don't like folk who cause problems."  
  
"I insisted that she be on her best behavior." Agatha's tail drooped. "She showed me hospitality, Applejack. She took me flying. I owe her."  
  
"Mebbe you're her second chance." Applejack flicked her tail at a cloud lurking behind a nearby hill. "Mebbe there's someponies who want her to have one. Time'll tell. Tell you what--mah lil' sister Apple Bloom's coming home on the train. She's fixing to be a right good carpenter, if she ever listens to herself. You spend some time with her--"  
  
"I will do my best," Agatha said.  
  
Applejack nudged over a bright red toolbox. Inside was second-hand yet cared-for tools. Most of them were for carpentry. She tugged out an adjustable spanner with her mouth. The taste of metal wasn't too bad. Placing a nut and bolt on the ground, she carefully set the span of the head with her tongue on the screw adjuster. Ach, this would take weeks to get used to! She be as much Apple Bloom's apprentice as teacher. Once she learned how to use tools--more specifically, the fine ones used in clockwork--she could make her little helpers again. In the meantime, she could earn bits through performing plays or playing the piano. Time with Master Payne's Circus had taught her that small rural towns were starved for entertainment.  
  
I had a castle.  
  
Agatha dropped the wrench.  
  
I had a town and a title and a destiny. Now? What do I have? Yes, these ponies are friendly. But they don't need me. The ones who do are across an unimaginable gulf. By the time I managed to learn enough magic or science to return--if I even do--then either Lucrezia will have won or the Baron will have destroyed the town. They're dead. They're dead because I _failed and I've lost and what is there for me here? A life eking out a career of fixing farm machinery. Or worse: I succeed as only a Spark can do. This is a peaceful land. Othar said all of Europa's troubles came from Sparks. Europa was used to centuries of warfare. If I go bad or lose control of an experiment, these ponies will have no idea of what horrors I can unleash upon them. It's all **gone wrong. Mein Gott! She had forgotten about Lucrezia. The pressure of her mother within her was gone. If there was the slightest chance Mother was in there and escaped--**_  
  
A great form embraced Agatha with one leg pressing her close. Agatha leaned in against him, as she had against Adam that last day they had been together. Warmth and strength and silent love. Blinking away the tears, she stared up at the shaggy red stallion who stood beside her. He was far taller than any other pony she had ever seen. He wore the heavy yoke around his neck as if it were a cravat. His embrace wasn't intimate. It was comforting--the comfort of someone offering succour to a stranger. On any other day, Agatha would have flushed and stammered at such improper conduct with a naked--  
  
\--shut up, you wittering idiot, he's a horse just like you are now--  
  
Agatha relaxed.  
  
She wasn't alone.  
  
+++  
  
"Y'alright, big brother?" Applejack asked.  
  
Big Macintosh puzzled the straw between his teeth.  
  
"Eeeeyup."  
  
"New mare headed off?"  
  
"Eeeeeyup."  
  
"Ah wish she wasn't palling around with that griffon. Well, long as that troublemaker don't bother Apple Bloom or the town, Ah'll live with it."  
  
"Eeeeeyup."  
  
"You really al'right, Big Mac?" Applejack squinted at him.  
  
The red stallion stared down the road at the dust raised by a newly-shod pony.  
  
"Purty."


	12. Elementary, My Dear Princess

Twilight Sparkle allowed herself a glow of pride as a pegasus guard escorted her into Her Radiant Majesty's private chambers. Princess Celestia must have had so much to do in the wake of the changeling attack. Yet she had taken time to invite her most faithful student for afternoon tea. Twilight had cherished that privilege in the time she had lived in Canterlot Castle. To think that Celestia would give her such attention when she obviously had much more important matters to attend with. Twilight had vowed with each visit that she never, ever fail her sovereign.  
  
Celestia's inner sanctum was more subdued than one might expect of the Sun-Mare. Twilight had wondered about that while under her tutelage. After the defeat of Night Mare Moon, Twilight had an inkling of why the princess' apartments were in subdued violets and blues. A thousand years was a long time to wait for a beloved, angry sibling to return. The only bright colour was the golden bolster at the head of pillow-couch where Celestia sat. A plum pillow was at its foot. The tea service was set. Twilight sat down with her beloved ruler and teacher.  
  
By one of Celestia's hooves was one of the parchment scrolls which bore Spike's messages.  
  
\--don't be foalish, this wasn't a sign that she had done anything wrong--  
  
"My most faithful student," the Princess said, her ethereal mane waving as if in a breeze, "you have grown so much since I sent you to Ponyville."  
  
"I've learned a lot," Twilight said, horn lighting up to pour a cup for the Princess. "I don't know if I'll ever finish my studies of the magic of friendship."  
  
"It takes a lifetime," Celestia said. "Even I have never finished my own studies."  
  
"Don't be silly, you must know everything." Twilight choked on a mouthful of tea. "Aheh. Not that I'm contradicting you. I'd never do that."  
  
"At heart, Twilight, I am a pony like any other." Celestia coughed delicately into one wing. "And as a pony, I understand when fillies become mares. They might become involved in advanced studies of friendship."  
  
Twilight had to be wrong. It looked at if Celestia glanced at the scroll with disquiet.  
  
Oh, no! Spike has sent a secret report and somehow, some way, Twilight had been a bad pony!  
  
"Very advanced." Was Celestia-- She was blushing. "Experiments."  
  
"Experiments?" Twilight gasped. "Oh! Sorry, your highness. You're talking about sex. I know all about that."  
  
"You do." Celestia smiled faintly. A tiny, aristocratic drop of sweat appeared below her tiara.  
  
"Sure. Health class was a mandated subject in school." Twilight frowned. "Although the teacher assigned talked about blossoming flowers and bees. I had to do extensive research on my own to find out anything useful."  
  
"Was it practical in nature?" Celestia asked.  
  
"Well, practical meant dating, which was such a waste of time," Twilight continued. "I was thinking of using the Want It Need It spell to skip right over that part. But it felt like cheating, so I stayed with the theoretical."  
  
"Like this?" Celestia edged the scroll over to Twilight. "Perhaps young Spike found your research notes by accident."  
  
Twilight opened the scroll.  
  
Um.  
  
She narrowed her eyes. That wasn't right at all. By instinct, Twilight's magic reached for parchment and quill. The nib scribbled equations and anatomical diagrams. Half-hidden under the bolster was a small book with a plain brown cover. Ah! Twilight had read that one: _Harlequin's Helpful Hints on Horseplay and Harlotry._ Getting access to that section of the Canterlot Castle library hadn't been easy; it had taken a teensy fudge of the facts to explain that Celestia wanted her personal student to study biology to budge the librarians. For some reason this copy had a small red bow stuck to the spine. Twilight tossed it aside as she flipped to Exercise 37, Plates 6A-7C (In Colour).  
  
How silly! Celestia wouldn't lower herself to talking about mating with Twilight. This was clearly a cover for a far more disturbing situation. Quills blurred while Twilight furiously worked out her proof in detail. Complete with diagrams, of course. A task set before her by Celestia couldn't be done without meticulous, perfect work. Proudly, Twilight laid out her analysis out before Princess Celestia.  
  
"You must have spotted it yourself, your highness," Twilight said. "We may have a spy."  
  
"A spy?"  
  
"Sure. Look at this." Twilight summoned a wooden pointer. "See? What Spike described is impossible for an equiniform."  
  
"A relief to us all," Celestia said.  
  
"Yeah, a pony would need a full tea set, five spoons, a strainer ball, and an oven mitt along with the tea cozy."  
  
"And you provided detailed illustrations," Celestia said, gaze flicking over same.  
  
"To pull of this," Twilight said, tapping at Spike's message, "you'd have to be--um, I think the closest would be a minotaur. Spike didn't mention anyone exotic, so that means whoever described it looked like a pony."  
  
"I see." A stern expression drifted over Celestia's features. "Twilight, I charge you with investigating this situation."  
  
"I won't fail you!" Twilight said. "Should I take along some of the Royal Guard?"  
  
"It would not do to be hasty." Celestia inclined her head to her subject. "Twilight, have I ever told you that among all I have known for my long life, you are among the most unique minds I have ever encountered?"  
  
"I don't know what to say." Twilight blushed.  
  
"Oh yes. So very...singular...indeed."  
  
++++  
  
Nigh-immortal alicorn rulers have unusual entries in their appointment books.  
  
Such as "Expected Apocalypses."  
  
A quill hovered over "Twilight Sparkle Discovers Mating" and scratched it out.  
  
Phew.


	13. Triggered

The locomotive's whistle blew as it pulled out of Canterlot Station. Twilight closed the door of the private cabin she had taken for the trip to Ponyville. It was a luxury that usually she would only have used for a long overnight trip. She wanted the privacy, though. And, of course, it was the Princess' bits that was paying for it. All on official business, of course.  
  
Twilight spread out the reports Spike had sent to the Princess after she had asked where he had heard about the Tea Cozy Technique. Huh. Well, it couldn't be a changeling missed by Shining Armor and Cadence's banishment spell. As Twilight knew all too well, changelings were scarily-good mimics. Clumsy, obvious foreign accent, stories about heroes who weren't part of Germane folklore: not what a spy would do to fit in. She hadn't had the smoothest approach if this "mare" were trying to sneak out information on transdimensional harmonics and aetheric manifold transforms.  
  
What the hay? Twilight re-read that. That was advanced. Extremely advanced. It was at the gleaming tip of unicorn magical theory. Actually, it was the subject of a dissertation Twilight had been plugging away at for years, and she really really had to meet this mare. Darn it, no! Focus! This was a huge clue! Maybe not a spy. Maybe it was a refugee from somewhere else--inside, Little Twilight was backflipping in glee at the idea--who had cast a transformative spell to appear like a pony. Or it might be a glamour.  
  
She couldn't assume this mare-whatever was a threat. She might need their help, instead. That changed everything. Should she tell the other girls? It was a huge secret. This mare might be ashamed of the situation. Twilight steepled her hooves. No. This needed finesses. This needed delicacy. This needed a light diplomatic touch.  
  
Her cabin door slid open.  
  
"The last cream-cheese-icing-and-hot-sauce cupcake," said Pinkie Pie, still dealing with cake overload, "was my doom-- Ooo! Someone new in Ponyville! Let me get my party cannon! Woo hoo!"  
  
This was doomed before it started, wasn't it?  
  
++++  
  
"Lodging won't be a problem," the Mayor said. "We're always glad when somepony wants to settle here. For a day or for life, it doesn't matter."  
  
"Again, I have no money," Agatha said. "I don't even have a job."  
  
"We have a few tents the town uses," Mayor Mare said, "for festivals. I'll have one of our smaller ones set up in the park."  
  
The tan-coated older pony turned to talk with a functionary while Agatha finished nailing her notice for piano lessons--"piano must be supplied"--on a public notice board at Ponyville's rathaus. The town hall was impressive for a small community: a three-storey tower with the air of an estate's garden gazebo. It was of a piece with the whimsy of this world. Sitting down on the circular balcony, Agatha munched a golden delicious from Sweet Apple Acres as she watched the ponies at their business.  
  
She could live here.   
  
It was a terrible thought. It was a betrayal of everyone at home. She wouldn't stop searching until she were sure--absolutely sure--there was no way back. But she could live here and be happy. No great destiny, no enraged tyrants seeking her death. A house of her own, a small dungeon dug underneath for experimental purposes. She would have to control her Spark very, very carefully. If tranquility was so prevalent, then the ruling princesses must have considerable powers to ensure there was no threat. Although Agatha hoped they wouldn't mind some free civic improvements. Applejack had warned her about the Everfree Forest south of town. Honestly, not even any defensive walls?  
  
Her ears perked at the sound of a steam engine. Tossing the apple core into a public rubbish basket--er, make at missing, then picking it up with her mouth to drop it in--Agatha trotted over to the train depot. The afternoon train had pulled into the town's neat little station. The train with its 4-4-0 locomotive and its toy-like carriages weren't the armor-plated affairs run by the Corbetite Monks of Europa. Imagine--not even any machine-guns! Passengers were often asked to man weapons stations if a guard-monk on a Europan train was injured at their duty.  
  
Oh, so it did have a cannon. Agatha saw a primitive muzzle loader being wheeled out out and pointed right at her.  
  
Two months of hell-on-Earth training and two days in Castle Heterodyne had honed her combat instincts to a fine edge. Agatha blurred past the shot which--glittered?--as it missed her. There was a surprised "oof" when a back hoof rammed the gunner in the flank. A swipe with her right hoof sent the attacker right across the station platform. Her left was already raised in a blow that could cripple or kill when-- A party favour blew in her face. Agatha looked down into the terrified blue eyes of a mare whose pink coat could not be found in any natural colour wheel. A bouncy pink mane deflated with an audible hiss to become almost flat.   
  
"Surprise!" the pink mare squeaked as if she has inhaled an airship's gas cell's worth of helium. "Welcome to Ponyville."  
  
The mare twirled a rattler and grinned nervously.  
  
"Please don't kill me?"


	14. Ponyville Weather Report: Sunny, with a Chance of Explosions

Griffons could be patient. Came from being half-lion and half-eagle, Gilda thought. Not that she was the best in the pride at it. But she was being patient with Agatha. She'd kinda lost the thermal when she'd let stupid Raindork Crash egg her into nearly drowning her new friend in the river. It was fine. Let Agatha cool off some by going around Ponyville and seeing how lame the earthworms were. Even though she seemed to be getting along fine with them. Even making friends.  
  
Gilda's front claws tightened into the high-atmosphere cloud she'd been hiding on for hours.  
  
HEY! That pinky pony that had suckered Gilda out last time she'd been in town had shot at Agatha with a freaking cannon! Nopony tried that with her friends. And now Crash had launched herself for a sucker punch!  
  
"I'M COMING FOR YOU!"  
  
++++  
  
No. No. No.  
  
She had had plans. She had wrote down careful, diplomatic approaches. She had even worked out a way to defuse the situation when Pinkie scared the horseapples out of the stranger with that Party Cannon. What she hadn't accounted for was said stranger reacting with trained combat instincts right out of the Royal Guard hoof-to-hoof fighting manual. Oh, great. She was going to have to improvise.  
  
Plans. She had had plans!  
  
Twilight frantically teleported from the train station platform to the two of them to--  
  
Her irises shrank when she heard an enraged eagle's cry and the distinctive roar of Rainbow Dash at full throttle.  
  
The last thing she heard before raising a hasty shield spell was Pinkie wailing "THIS IS GONNA BE A DOOZY!"  
  
++++  
  
She had to be in a hospital. In her life at Beetleburg, Agatha had visited the Transylvania Polygnostic any number of times as both orderly and patient. Usually the latter, to attend to the bumps and cuts that came from yet another failed lab experiment. There was no mistaking the smell of disinfectant and the feel of overly-starched hospital bedsheets. Although the tang of ozone was absent. Her eyelids fluttered open. Was she in Mechanicsburg's Great Hospital? Panic filled her. No! If that happened, it meant she had been captured by the Baron's forces. He might now even he looming over her with surgical tools and a cranial saw.  
  
Agatha flung aside blankets and pillows. She immediately regretted it a second later. The agonizing pain around her midsection announced that she was the proud owner of several cracked ribs. Hissing, she rubbed a hoof around the bandages wound lightly around her midsection. Hooves? Agatha blinked. Oh. Right. Not Mechanicsburg. She was in Ponyville. Woozily, she looked about while one hoof searched about for her glasses. The hospital room she had been placed in was nicely appointed, with a steel-framed bed and the usual too-crisp bed-linens. Through a window she could see the night sky and a radiant full moon. To one side was a small table with a tray on it.  
  
On it was a "Welcome Back To Consciousness!" card, signed by one Pinky Pie in shaky pink ink. Beside that card was a "We're Sorry About Pinky Pie" signed by Rarity, Spike, Applejack, Big Macintosh, the Mayor, and-- Attached to the bottom of that was a scroll which, when unrolled, hung down to level of the floor. Covered in signatures. Agatha flopped down onto the pillows. Mein Gott, what had happened? There had been some sort of explosion. A rainbow-hued mushroom cloud which she had seen while tumbling through the air. Then there had been a sofa. Oh. Right. She had luckily fallen into the furniture section of Quills and Sofas. Not so luckily, she had plunged through its roof and ceiling first. Hence the cracked ribs.  
  
Another memory came to mind: Gilda's enraged cry right before everything had gone multi-coloured.  
  
There was another bed in the room. This one was much larger than her own pony-sized bed. On it rested Gilda the Griffon wrapped in enough bandages to qualify her as one of the mummy tomb guardian constructs reputed to haunt the pyramids of Egypt. Agatha scrabbled over to the bedside of her friend. Hung on the footboard was a chart that was similar enough to the forms used in Europan medicine to tell her that Gilda would be laid up for some time. Broken wing, crooked pinion feathers, sprained forelegs-- Agatha laid a hoof gently on her host's side. It had been the start of a wonderful day together, and it had ended up like this.  
  
A figure rose up into view from the other side of the bed.  
  
Cerise eyes stared into Agatha's.  
  
"I'm not evil," Agatha said to Rainbow Dash.  
  
"You nearly punched out Pinkie Pie over a prank." Dash's wings flared. Her features were covered up by several dressings. "What did you think you were doing?"  
  
"She. Shot. Me. With. A. Cannon," Agatha snarled. "I spent the last few days dodging gunfire, evading deathtraps, and trying to save my friends while a mad castle tried to end their lives. So sue me if I was a little bit on edge when I saw an artillery piece pointed at me!"  
  
"You didn't have to--" Rainbow Dash cocked her head. "Seriously. Death traps? Who are you, Daring Do or something?"  
  
"Let's say my life has gotten complicated," Agatha said. "My Heterodyne Colts stories were informed by personal experience."  
  
"Wow. That's harsh." Dash's wings folded back. She rubbed her brow with a hoof. "Yeah, that, uh, would explain a lot."  
  
"Hah. Hah," cawed a raspy voice from the bed. "Dork's acting reasonable. I must have smashed into you really hard."  
  
"Gilda!" Dash hurried to the griffin's side. "Geeze, I didn't mean to hurt you this bad. I didn't even see you coming."  
  
"That's par." Gilda screeched a low laugh. "You never see anything coming, including the ground. And please. Like you could actually take me out. Worth it, though. How big a crater did we make?"  
  
"Ponyville has a new swimming hole." Dash groaned. "And I hear they're going to make me pay half the damages to the train station out of my weather-captain salary."  
  
"So worth it." Gilda's eyes narrowed in pain, even as she chortled. "You alright, Agatha?"  
  
"I'll live," Agatha said. "I might have been hard on you, earlier. I shouldn't have--"  
  
"No big. I'm not a cub," Gilda said. "So, you going to stay around here with the lame-o's?"  
  
"For a while," Agatha said. "At least you'll have someone to visit you during your stay."  
  
"Yeah, and I'll swing round too." Dash huffed. "Just to make sure you're behaving yourself, Featherduster."  
  
"Crashpad."  
  
"Jerk."  
  
"I'll just leave the two of you alone," Agatha said.  
  
Gilda and Rainbow Dash were well into a round of bickering when Agatha closed the door behind her. The hospital corridors were quiet this late at night. Agatha eased into a couch in a common area halfway down the hall. Her ribs had begun waving pitchforks and torches. It was a miracle that she hadn't been smashed into a paste by the blast. She suspected that the influence of the Dyne Waters in her Heterodyne blood had given her some of the inhuman stamina of her ancestors. But there were limits. Could resilience be an expression an earth pony's innate magic? It would explain so much.  
  
Two snores came from a nearby armchair. A lavender unicorn with a dark mane and tail with bright purple streaks through both lay curled up within it. On her flanks was a bright purple star surrounded by several small white starbursts. Lying atop her was Spike, curled up beneath a scrap of blanket. Agatha recognized her from the _Ponyville Express_ photograph of the "Elements of Harmony": Twilight Sparkle. She was the one Spike had said could help her with her questions about transdimensional theory. A flicker of hope welled in Agatha's breast. Maybe, just maybe--  
  
Clutched in Twilight's hooves was a folder with Agatha's name printed on a tab.  
  
Ever so carefully, Agatha eased it out of the unicorn's grasp.  
  
Charts. Fluoroscope readings. Graphs that were labeled "brainwave scans". Details notes from doctors on something called "biomagical signatures". Several were annotated in a fine, scholarly script in quill.  
  
All could be explained as routine medical examinations after a major accident.  
  
Detailed, mind.   
  
Twilight Sparkle was Princess Celestia's personal student.   
  
Her agent.  
  
Twilight's eyes opened.  
  
"Do you have something to ask me?"


	15. Ghost Stories

Twilight's aching head made it hard to concentrate. Absorbing the impact from both Dash and Glinda with that quick-cast aegis spell had hit her with a thaumaturgical backlash migraine. Steam hissed out of the ice pack wrapped around her horn. The doctors had warned her not to do anything more strenuous than levitating a feather until the next sunset. Arggggh! She had to get to the bottom of this, and she couldn't use her own magic.  
  
Not that the doctors at Ponyville Hospital were incompetent or the facilities inadequate. But what she really needed to do was strap down Agatha in an examination room at one of the major Canterlot magical institutes. Nurse Redheart wouldn't allow that, though. She'd given Twilight a weird look when mentioning the possibility. Twilight couldn't understand why. It might be a little extreme for a medical exam, but Spike never complained when she had him under the scanners for routine calibration. Even the material she had on hoof was reluctantly provided, only after Twilight had mentioned Celestia's authority and the changeling threat.  
  
Hmmm. Right from the top. High end stamina and robustness, at the top of general earth pony norms. The brain scans they'd run with the equipment she'd had them haul out of the library basement were definitely abnormal. It was almost as if she had a unicorn's brain rather than an earth pony, though there was no evidence Agatha could cast spells. No ingrown horn, either. There were a few cases in the literature where unicorns whose horns hadn't grown out had been mistaken for earth ponies. Aside from that, the new mare in town was a perfectly healthy (save for some cracked ribs) pony in the peak of health.  
  
Huh. Something about that. She couldn't put her hoof to it--  
  
Twilight yawned, slumping down in her seat.  
  
Maybe it would become clearer in the morning.  
  
++++  
  
"Do you have something to ask me?"  
  
Twilight stayed very, very still. It wasn't because she didn't want to disturb Spike, who must have climbed onto her while she was out. It wasn't because she realized how bad it must look being found with her hoof in the cookie jar; those medical files were really supposed to be confidential ones limited only to a doctor working on Agatha's case. It was because Agatha made her feel small and scared and oh no she'd made a stupid mistake writing down the proof while Celestia was in the room. _Judging her._  
  
Twilight had dealt with plenty of things in the past couple of years that had tried to harm her, from a grown dragon to a cockatrice to immortal tricksters. So Agatha shouldn't have forced her ears to lie flat against her head. It might be the strange way Agatha held herself. A pony might lean forward as if to butt heads or stamp a hoof in anger. Agatha's stance was more...predatory. Cold and stiff, with a hint of threat in her body language that reminded Twilight that the mare could probably handle Applejack in a fight. It might have been the play of light and shadow. It was as if Nightmare Moon were standing in front of her again.  
  
Ears perked up. Nightmare Moon. Possession? No. But what about transformation? Agatha had a perfect body. Too perfect, without the marks on the bones that indicated ageing. It was as if she had been popped into existence out of thin air, or else turned from whatever she had once been into a pony. Twilight knew that it was perfectly possible, given that she'd once accidentally turned one of her parents into a cactus. It wasn't a glamour. She was getting used to a new body. Yes! That explained everything! Twilight, you're a genius!  
  
She was standing in front of Agatha like a complete idiot, pumping a hoof in the air.  
  
"Aheh," Twilight said, smiling nervously. "Sudden epiphany attack."  
  
"Those happen," Agatha said. "So. You or your mistress guessed I'm not your average pony. If you're worried, be sure I'll leave the Princess' lands without causing any more trouble."  
  
"What? No, no," Twilight said, shocked. "All she asked me to do what see if you were a changeling. Celestia would never banish anypony simply because they were different."  
  
"In my experience," Agatha said, with a hint of Germane and...was that Romanean?...accent, "when someone powerful takes in interest in me, trouble usually follows. And explosions. And fire."  
  
"Parasprites?"  
  
"What are those?"  
  
"Little insect things that eat everything."  
  
"I haven't invented those," Agatha said. She shook her head. "In any case, what are you planning to do with me?"  
  
"Nothing! You're free to live here," Twilight said. "Ponyville can be a little crazy at first. But you get used to it."  
  
"I'm used to a little madness in my life." Agatha pushed the files back to Twilight. "My apologies. You had to do your duty to your mistress. Tell the Princess that the Heterodyne means no harm to anyb-- pony under her rule. All I want to do it rest for a little while."  
  
"The Heterodyne?" Twlight asked. "Is that a title, like 'princess'?"  
  
"It's a very long story," Agatha said.  
  
"Got all night." Twilight settled down into her seat.  
  
"Well, alright." Wincing, Agatha lay down on the couch. "How to start? Well, as the classics go, once upon a time..."  
  
++++  
  
*BAMF*  
  
Princess Celestia unrolled the scroll as she buttered a croissant at the breakfast table.  
  
Oh. Oh my. This could be complicated.  
  
With her magic, she plucked out the poster rolled up with the scroll.  
  
Her gaze darted to her dear sister, eating a light dinner before going to bed for the day.  
  
A piano teacher.  
  
A mischievous grin flickered over Celestia's muzzle.  
  
Precisely what was needed. 


	16. A Mare Should Know How To Accessorize

Agatha played the scales one more time on the upright piano in Ponyville Hospital's common room. Her ears flattened when the hammers within struck strings that were shamefully out of tune. Lilith would have never allowed the spinnet in their home for be neglected so badly. It took every bit of willpower not to rip off the panels to go after the offending mechanism. She compensated for the sour notes by applying a compensating pressure when she hit certain keys. The hoof of _Equuus ferus caballus sapiens_ was actually more delicate than it appeared. Weeks of physical therapy under Nurse Redheart had taught Agatha the tricks that little foals knew by instinct. On a piano's keyboard, the adaptability of fingers was replaced by using the tip or edge of the hoof. Agatha had studied each technique in the piano technique manual Spike had brought her, then plonked it out on a kinderclavier before even attempting it on the upright. Simple scales became arpeggios and runs.   
  
Inhumanly-large eyes behind equally large glasses glared at the sheet music. Steam huffed out of flared nostrils. Placing hoof against hoof, Agatha reversed them to crack her fetlocks before launching into the music. It was a complex solo piece by a Canterlot composer The lack of wear on its pages compared to most of the sheet music on the common room's shelves told her that few attempted it. Agatha had tired of the banal selection of folk music and children's songs that formed the bulk of the small selection on hoof. She wanted to _play._ She wasn't going to falter at yet another mixed note. She wasn't going to be ashamed at fumbling a chord. _She was going to play this piece like her very life depended on it. She had had only once chance to play the Silverlodeon after finishing the refurb. She had not had the chance to experience that utter joy of her unshackled mind free to launch into the aetherial realms of music._ Hooves that had slowly picked out the earlier movements began to blur. An atonal hum escaped her muzzle. _Don't listen. Be like Beethoven. **Feel. Experience. Yes. Save the improvisation for later. Dig deep into the piece instead. Claim it. Make it her own.**_  
  
Agatha bowed her head as her hooves picked out the last few notes.  
  
Well, it was a start.  
  
Hooves thundered applause on the floor. Turning about, Agatha found she had gathered an audience of two: Applejack and Rarity. Instincts from her circus days had her performing her best bow. The two mares must have been visiting their friend Rainbow Dash. Agatha had seen at least one of the tight circle of mares at visiting hours each day. They always seemed to have time to chat with her briefly. Twilight Sparkle of course was in all the time asking questions about the sciences of her world. Pinkie Pie would often come by with pastries from the shop where she worked. One day she had brought in gingerbread trilobites that had brought tears of nostalgia. Fluttershy came in at least once a week with a cute woodland animal for the foals or the elderly to pet. Rarity and Applejack had less opportunity to visit. The farm-pony was usually busy on at her orchard outside the village. The expertly-concealed bags under Rarity's eyes betrayed exhaustion from finishing her commissions. Somehow, they spent a few minutes chatting with her in the small amount of time they had to spare.  
  
"Not into that highfalutin' stuff," Applejack said, waving her hat in the air. "But that's some right smart ivory tickling."  
  
"That was a Cloppin nocturne," Rarity said, in a far more cultured accent. "I attended a performance in Canterlot with Fancy Pants once where it was played. The maestro's technique had nothing to compare to yours."  
  
"I was terrible," Agatha said. "My music masters would have rapped my knuck--I mean, my hooves for some of those mistakes."  
  
"Darling, Twilight told us about your transformation," Rarity stage-whispered.   
  
"You don't find that I wasn't a pony weird?" Agatha asked.  
  
"We've faced down Nightmare Moon and Discord," Applejack said. "Live in the same town as Pinkie Pie. We're up to our withers in weird."  
  
"Good point," Agatha said. "Dash should be in the physical therapy room coaching Gilda. Just listen for the screams."  
  
"We'll be seeing her by the by," Applejack said. "We're here to bring you down to the Acres for a proper welcome to Ponyville. Ordinarily it would be a surprise, but, well, you're a mite twitchy when you're startled."  
  
"Well, there might be one teeny surprise," Rarity said, winking.  
  
"As long as it doesn't resemble heavy artillery, I'm fine," Agatha said. "Since I am the guest of honour, could I extend an invitation?'  
  
"You mean Gilda?" Applejack shrugged. "'Long as she understands that she behaves while on my land and with my guests, we won't have a problem. We do have a problem, Ah'll buck her smart beak back to Griffonstone."  
  
"She has gotten better," Agatha said. "Dash has her doing ten extra wing-ups every time she says 'dweeb' or 'loser'."  
  
"Come now, we have to get you ready for the party!' Rarity clopped hooves together. "I'll have you looking like a Harvest Queen! And perhaps we could...do...something about that cowlick."  
  
"Rarity?" Agatha said, eyeing the scissors slowly hovering into view.  
  
"Yes?"   
  
"Put those away."  
  
"Fine. Let perfection be spoiled." Rarity bolted forward, starting daggers her mane. "But I swear, someday there shall be a reckoning!"  
  
Rarity dragged Agatha back to her room like a kettenkrad with its throttle stuck wide open. They passed the hospital's small gymnasium. Agatha managed a brief glimpse of Gilda screeching out epithets while locked into a horrible contraption of torment. Wearing a billed cap and a whistle, Rainbow Dash responded with furious blasts and admonitions about slacking off. Apparently that represented a vast improvement in their friendship since their rupture last year. The last she saw of her friend was an anguished screech as yet another kilogram of weight was added to the wing-lift machine.  
  
The administration had moved her into a private room overlooking the gardens. It had been at the behest of the Mayor who was entirely willing to have the town pay the bills as long as Agatha signed some papers. What little she could make of the legalese she had signed hinted that the Mayor was terrified Ponyville would be sued out of existence. Rarity paused on the threshold when she saw what happened to a cheery hospital room after weeks of Sparky occupancy. Books were everywhere. The contents of several Erector Sets had been worked into odd shapes as Agatha pursued her own brand of physical therapy. Sketches served as bookmarks, place mats, and booby-traps of piles meant to crush the unwary.  
  
The contents of the saddlebag that served as Rarity's purse hovered into the air. Agatha looked with some envy as the ease with which her friend levitated small objects. If only she had been incarnated as a unicorn! Instead, she had to relearn how to wield tools with her mouth. The mouth of a pony was quite dexterous. Hours spent with the cheap tools included with the Erector Sets had shown how precise a wrench or screwdriver to be when manipulated by teeth and lips. But it was so hard compared to human hands. All her energy was spent on concentrating on technique. She could hardly Spark at all.  
  
Curry comb and brush descended like avenging angels upon her mane. The contents of a cosmetics kit that would have delighted the countess assaulted her muzzle. Rarity kept up a constant chatter of gossip as she unleashed her creative efforts upon a helpless experimental subject. No wonder Agatha and the fashion-maven had clicked. Rarity was practically a Spark herself.   
  
It really was pleasant. There was only the slightest knotting in her stomach when Agatha thought of the last time she had been primped for a party. This wasn't going to be that sort of party. This was nothing like Sturmhalten. No-one was going to drug her and drag her into a chapel and _put her mother into her mind._ Out of sight, a hoof-tip slowly dug out a divot in the floor. Agatha plastered a rictus on her muzzle as Rarity showed her the dress she had made especially for her. Agatha locked her body as the garment was fitted onto her. It really was lovely: a fawn-green sundress with golden accents that "fell" to her croup, with a jaunty straw hat with a green and gold ribbon around the crown.  
  
It was all too similar to the outfit she had worn at her entrance to Mechanicsburg.  
  
"TAH-DAH!" Rarity flung her forelegs wide in triumph. "Now, be honest: is it amazing, or is it spectacular?"  
  
"It's very nice."  
  
"Nice?" Rarity sagged. "I was sure the colours would be perfect on you."  
  
"No, your work's amazing as always," Agatha said. "Just bad memories snuck up on me. The last party I was at, I finally met my mother."  
  
"Twliight said you had a tiff with her of some sort," Rarity said. "Agatha, family can be a trial. I could tell you tales of Sweetie Belle. But someday, you and your mother might--"  
  
" _The next time I see her, I will express my feelings for her **in acid and fire and electricity and PAIN!**_ "  
  
Oh. Hmmm.   
  
"Rarity, it's alright, come out from under the bed."  
  
"Yes, of course. Ahahaha." Rarity's ears were flat against her head. "You'll love Applejack's does. Even a mare of culture such as I has a farm-filly waiting to break out at times. Just the thing to revive your spirits."  
  
Agatha watched her back out of the room.  
  
Then she heard hoofbeats rapidly retreating down the hallway.  
  
Red fire. She had to control herself.  
  
Reaching under the bed, Agatha draw out the holster she had laboriously sewn in a leatherworks class during her therapy sessions. Her stitching was terrible compared to what she had been capable of. There was no way she was trying construct work with that kind of technique. But it served well enough. Agatha tightened the straps around foreleg where it would be covered by the sleeves of her dress. She checked the draw every so often. The device was one of the few things she had been able to create with any degree of functionality. The parts had been quietly appropriated from broken hospital equipment awaiting disposal. Crude, but serviceable.  
  
Now she was ready for the party.


	17. Party Prepping

Fine, I'll be a good little grifflet at the party!" Gilda shrieked above the tornado whirling around her. "You'll be finishing the job you did with your skull, Dork! I'll be bored to death!"  
  
"Hey. hoedowns are awesome," Dash said, slowing down. "They're like post-rally blowouts. Work hard, play hard. Main difference is you have to check haystacks instead of clouds if someponies are clopping in 'em."  
  
"Eh, worse comes to worse, I`ll perch high and snicker at the pathetic." Gilda fluffed her plummage. "Great work. You ever crash out of weathermaring, you got a great future as a bathroom hoofdryer."  
  
"Ha ha. Pranks are okay." Dash poked her flank. "Just don't be supermean to them or prank ponies who can't prank back. Oh, yeah--really, seriously don't sneak apples off the trees or hurt 'em."  
  
"Applejack's a dragon and her trees are hoard." Gilda clawed a checkmark in the air. "The pink punk's gonna be there?"  
  
"Parties and Pinkie go together." Rainbow ran a hoof through her mane. "Gilda, this town's my home. I wanna be your friend again. But me and the ponies here are a package deal."  
  
"Whatevs." Gilda clenched her talons. "Party on?"  
  
"Party on!" Rainbow replied with a hoofbump.  
  
Geez. This was going to be dire. Gilda knew it. Bunch've hayseeds getting drunk off of cider. There'd be folk music and incest. Eh, maybe it might be a little funny. Better than that foalish party that they'd had with the townie ponies when Dash had brushed her off. That had stung Gilda's pride some. Dash had thrown her over for ground-worm losers. That had been Gilda's bad, though. Dash was loyal to the bone. She should have known better than get between Dash and her pony friends, even if they were lame--  
  
Awk. Not doing another ten reps!  
  
But at least she had a chance to get back with her wingmare. They weren't flying close and tight like back in the day. That'd come. Gilda had decided to play if cool. If Dash decided to invite her to stay at her cloudominium, well, great. If not, then Gilda still had her lair in the mountains. She'd fixed up pretty good. For a total dump. Dash had a point about sticking to a boring weathermare gig. Gilda had crashed out of every job she had had since graduating from flight school. Mostly because her bosses and co-workers were complete dw--uh, didn't measure up to her standards for awesome. Her last real job had been some strongclaw work for the Fillydelphia 'Neighdregeta clans. Which had meant a midnight flight out when the cops had started in on her. If she couldn't find a place in Ponyville, she was facing having to head back to Depressoville--Griffonstone--with her tail between her hindlegs.  
  
Boo hoo hoo. Poor widdle Gilda with her lair and decent hunting range. Get some gravel in your belly, chick. Gilda now knew the meaning of "tough" listening to Agatha's stories. Stuff that even a tenth as intense would have had Gilda piecing back her eggshell and crawling back inside. Agatha was a lot like Dash in that. Even when she was down and out, she just would not give up no matter how much things were stacked against her. A griffon would be proud to fly with someone like that. No, no. Play it cool. Don't grovel. She still had her pride. But it would be pretty cool if she could score a guard gig with Agatha. She was some kind of noble back from where she came from, right? Having a griffon guard was a prestige thing among some ponies. Gilda wouldn't have done it for the prissy Canterlot aristos or Manehattan tycoons. Wearing Agatha's livery would be another thing   
  
Something pearl-gray flashed past fast enough to whip Dash's mane in her slipstream. Eagle eyes caught that little fashionista unicorn galloping for the exits. Uh-oh. She signed "heavy-weather coming" to Dash. Gilda faceclawed when she saw what the unicorn had stuck Agatha into. Dorksville supreme. No wonder Agatha looked ticked off. Heh. Maybe she might ditch the frilly unicorn after all. Gilda didn't want to face one of Agatha's ragers, though. She was usually chill. Every so often, though. she'd pop like a charged thunderhead. Especially when she fumbled like a filly instead of a grown mare.   
  
"What did you do, tell Rarity her mane was falling out?" Dash asked.  
  
"She poked a live circuit," Agatha said. "I lost my temper and slipped a bit."  
  
"'Madness place, right." Dash whirled her hooves on either side of her head and crossed her eyes.  
  
"Great impression!" Gilda cawed.  
  
"I do not look like that." Agatha paused. "Do I?"  
  
"Nah, just yanking your tail a lil'," Dash said. "Don't worry, Rares will bounce back."  
  
"She wants to hang with the Heterodyne," Gilda said, smacking Agatha with a wing, "she had better mare up for the ride."  
  
"I'll talk to her later," Agatha said. "Aren't you worried about the madness place? Twilight should have explained it to you."  
  
"Yeah, well, if you were one of the creepy sparks from your stories, I might." Dash shrugged. "You've been here a month and done nothing bad. And everypony's had a crazy moment. Sheesh, you should hear about Pinkie Pie and her personal party friends one day."  
  
"Hey, could you at least lose it a little?" Gilda complained. "I've waiting for you to blow up part of this burg for weeks. You're disappointing me."  
  
"C'mon, she's not that bad," Dash said.  
  
"The second-to-last town I was in was on fire when I left it," Agatha said. "Also it was being invaded by blob-monsters."  
  
"Yeah, Dash, she's that bad," Gilda said. "Why do you think she's my favorite pony? Sorry, Crash, I've lost my heart forever to another."  
  
"We are not blowing up Ponyville unless we need to," Agatha said. "Even though there are some pyrotechnic formulas I learned in the Circus-- No."  
  
"How about a flight?" Dash asked. "I owe you one for the time I ended up knocking you off the cloud."  
  
"That would be great." Agatha smiled. "Mind hauling me one more time, Gilda?"  
  
"I was planning to," Gilda replied. "Think how awesome it'll be to make your big entrance on griffonback."  
  
The three of them headed in silence for the exit.  
  
"Seriously, blob monsters?"  
  
++++  
  
Twilight flicked the spoon buried in her extra-strength mug of espresso. It twanged. She massaged her brow below her horn as she sipped the acrid-yet-invigorating brew. Half-lidded eyes stared around the chaos in the small restricted-stacks chamber high in the trunk of the Golden Oak Library's trunk. It was where valuable manuscripts or material not suitable for foalish eyes was kept. One new shelf had been added that Twilight mentally called the "Heterodyne Collection". Stacked haphazardly on the shelves were scrolls and tomes The material in them had been copied from Agatha's memories by Scribner's Scribe. It was rarely used because most ponies couldn't memorize more than a single book. Agatha had an entire library in her skull.  
  
Twilight shivered in dread and delight as she passed a hoof over the pages of the Heterodyne Collection's crown jewel: the _Notes of Van Rijn_. She hadn't gotten ten pages in before her mind had been tied into knots. The intellectual leaps within were incredible. She had read all the works of the great mages like Starswirl. She had even tip-hoofed into parts of the royal library at night that maybe she shouldn't have. But she had to know! That was what was so great about magical theory. No matter how advanced, there was always a solid path you could follow to the ultimate conclusion. It made sense. The universe was knowable. Her studies of the magic of friendship proved that even the formerly tricky field of relationships between ponies wasn't completely obscure.  
  
The works of the Sparks was different from the magic she knew. Take the basic manual on clank programming on shelf two by Agatha's mentor Doctor Beetle. It was apparently an introductory work of basic concepts. The equivalent in Equestria was an extremely advanced work on self-directed magical automata that was only studied at the doctorate level. These humans did things with gears and electromechanical circuits that would require a dense magically-summoned neural net created by an archmage. The faculty at the Manehattan Institute of Technology was apparently freaking out. The stuff in Van Rijn's personal notes was even scarier. There were crazy loop-de-loops of logic and inspiration that would have impressed Rainbow Dash. Trying to tease it out could knock a mare out flat.  
  
Neat!  
  
"We have a visitor, Mithstress!" An eerie voice came from behind her. "Shall I invite her down to the cellar for...experiments?"  
  
"Spike, why are you wearing Luna's fake fangs?" Twilight asked. "And why does my number one assistant have a hunchback?"  
  
"I've been reading _Minioning for Dumbkopfs._ " Spike spit out the Nightmare Night teeth. "I kinda of like the idea of being your 'chief minion'. 'Number one assistant' is great. But I've got to challenge myself."  
  
"'Chief minion' it is," Twilight says. "You don't need fangs or a hunchback. You just have to be yourself."  
  
"Thanks!" Spike gave her a thumbs-up. "You want me to refile all this stuff?"  
  
"No, it's my mess." Twilights horn glowed.   
  
"Great, I'll just head down and check the new trapdoor is working to dump experimental subjects into the lab."  
  
Spike was best mini--  
  
Wait, what? Trapdoor?  
  
Hah. She must still be half-loopy. Trap-door. Really. Humming to herself, Twilight sipped the last of her espresso as books and scrolls flew back into their proper places. Hooves clopped down the spiral stairway leading down to the concealed door between two shelves in the main reading room. A delicious buttery scent filled her nose when the magical lock was undone. The tell-tale clatter of crockery came from upstairs. Climbing the stairs, Twilight headed through a door into the small kitchen and bathroom in the librarian's apartment.  
  
The pink-maned party pony of Ponyville was just shoving a pie tin into the oven. Perched atop her head was a white chef's hat with SCIENCE! in--of course--pink glitter across the front. On the table was a plate of freshly-baked croissants. Pinkie had been expanding her usual repetoire of sugar-laden cupcakes and cakes with Prench and Germane pastries since Agatha's arrival. It hadn't always been a success. The sriricha strudel recipe had been publically burned before Sugarcube Corner. Twilight sampled a croissant. These were much better!  
  
"Heya, Twilight!" Pinkie bounced over. "Here's your invitation to Agatha Heterodyne's Super Duper Hopping Hoedown at Applejack's this afternoon!"  
  
"So it's ready?" Twilight smiled. "She's going to be thrilled."  
  
"Yep!" Pinkie smiled. "Especially with me adding my party-pony magic! I've got a Ferris wheel and a bouncy castle and a little roller coaster and all sorts of rides."  
  
"You're going to have time to set that all up?" Twilight asked.  
  
"Nope! She'll have to help," Pinkie said. "She likes putting things together. She once said she helped improve her Circus' wagons. So putting together all the rides will be fun."  
  
"I'm glad you're getting along," Twilight said.   
  
"She's teaching me some great recipes from her circus' cook." The oven bell dinged. "Oh, that reminds me, Derpy misdelivered a letter from the Canterlot Academy for Unicorns. They lost all your test scores. You'll have to retake all of your exams."  
  
Twilight froze.  
  
No. Oh no oh no this was terrible her degree was invalid she would have to--  
  
SPLUT!  
  
A hoof pressed to her fetlock.  
  
"So, how are you feeling?" Pinkie asked, testing her pulse.  
  
"Uh." Twilight blinked through a faceful of pie. "A little anxious?"  
  
"Ooooo, more butter, a pinch less nutmeg," Pinkie said. "Thanks for helping me test the calming pie recipe."  
  
"No problem, Pinkie." Twilight smiled. "Why don't you go downstairs and ask Spike if you can help him test out the thing?"  
  
"The thing? Okey-dokey-lokey!"  
  
Pinkie bounced downstairs.  
  
Twilight wiped the pie off her muzzle.  
  
There was a high-pitched scream that faded away.  
  
"Trap-door's working great, Mistress." 


	18. Flight of Fancy

_Off we go into the wild blue yonder,  
Climbing high towards the fray_  
  
A rainbow contrail blurred across the skies above Ponyville.  
  
_Clouds gather, with lightning and thunder,  
Come on, we have to chase them away!_  
  
Griffin and pegasus wings flapped in time with one another.  
  
_Ponies below look up in wonder, as we dive into the storm!  
Whether we live in fame or go down in flame,_  
  
An eagle's screech and an engine's roar heralded the two arching up into a ballistic flight path.  
  
_We'll make sure the sun shines clear again!  
Nothing will stop the Equestrian Air Corps!_  
  
++++  
  
Agatha was sure the universe would stop spinning around like a drunken gyroscope. Eventually. At least, she had had not had to use the little bag Gilda had given her before take-off. Any queasiness was rendered moot by the fact that her stomach had been left several kilometers behind. It turned out that Dash and Gilda were just a tiny bit competitive when it came to aerobatics in the same way that Klaus Wulfenbach got a tiny bit annoyed with people messing with Other technology. The resulting flight path of two headstrong flyers who had just hit the skies after a long hospital stay resembled the bastard child of a corkscrew and a tesseract.  
  
A wild laugh escaped her lips as she flung her forehooves out in delight. The leather straps about her waist and hind legs securing her to the saddle had worked! Saddles were more fashion accessories among Equestrians than usable tack. But functional ones were part of a competition called "rodeo" that resembled an agrarian Olympics. 'Crow bucking was one such competition where a contestant had to unseat a scarecrow fastened into a saddle in the shortest amount of time. Herr Big Apple had thougthfully sent her an old bucking saddle with heavily-reinforced restraints when his sister had apparently told him about Agatha's interest in another flight. All it had taken had reshaping the saddle tree a bit to have it fit Gilda. The flight-saddle had passed its maiden voyage with literal flying colors without even having to test the ejection system--consisting of a huge spring and parachute--that Agatha had created in case of another lithobraking incident.. Reaching up, she patted her head to see if Rarity's hat had stayed on. A combination of several pins through her mane and tying the hatband under her chin had kept it on.   
  
Oversized goggles fitted over her glasses kept her eyes from watering from the airstream. Gilda and Rainbow Dash flew at speeds impossible for mundane birds. Their wings were as much focii for air magic as the horns of a unicorn enabled it to forge aetheric energies into spells. They sped high above the earth over a cloudscape where their shadows played over the hills and valleys of pillowing white like the silhouettes of goddesses. Idly, she leaned out to catch a stray bit of cloud from a passing stratus. It broke free with slight resistance, leaving a tiny puffball balanced there. The cloudball had the consistency of clay between her hooves when she rolled it between them. They had paid a visit to the Golden Grove Library before take-off to have Twilight Sparkle cast a cloudwalking spell as an additional safety measure. Agatha's mind whirled at the machinations to physics needed to have a pony stand upon water vapour as if it were solid ground. _If she could somehow forge a mechanism to create aetheric-energy matrices that could replicate spells_ \--   
  
Her musings on increasing the surface tension of clouds with electromagnetic manipulation was interrupted when a great city appeared from behind a peak of cumulus. It was the metropolis in the sky she had spied from far off that second day in this world. Up close, it appeared as if Olympus had been shaped out of mist and rainbows. She felt as if she were Daedalus about to storm the home of the gods to make them answer for killing his son in the name of hubris. A riot of structures right out of classical Greece and ancient Rome hung suspended like some exuberant child's fantasy. Agatha could not help clopping her hooves while laughing like the madgirl she was. Oh, what a wonderful world she had found herself in! How could she be depressed finding herself in a place with such amazing sights? This was no Spark's creation to dominate the earth below with hail and lightning. It was a productive place where weather was made to bring the atmosphere's bounty to nourish the lands below.   
  
"Gilda, thank you!" Agatha hugged the griffon's neck. "This was exactly what I needed. I hope I'm not tiring you out."  
  
"Nah, I'm great." Gilda's wings whipped through the air. "Dash's workouts did the trick. I could coast from here to Manehattan without a sweat."  
  
"Am I an awesome coach or what?" Dash burnished a hoof against her chest. "Of course I am. You still were behind me just a bit during that race."  
  
"Griffon are boom-and-zoom instead of maneuver flyers." Gilda jerked her head at the pegasi's madly-fluttering wings. "Meanwhile, you'll stall out while I can cruise for hours."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" Dash's eyes narrowed. "I bet I can outlast you."  
  
"Oooooo." Gilda's beak curved. "First one to drop from the sky has to cluck like a chicken for the next--"  
  
"No more racing." Agatha laughed. "As thrilling at it was, I like my eyeballs not rolling in their sockets for once."  
  
"Admit it, you`re hooked," Gilda said. "You'll never want to stooge around in some dumpy old gasbag ever again."  
  
"I didn't see enough of Gil's flying machine to understand the underlying aerodynamics," Agatha mused. "I would have to replicate his work from existing sources here. At least, I can do all those improvements on his engine we talked about."  
  
"Rarity did okay with those wings Twilight conjured for her," Dash said. "Pretty fragile things, though. And every pony I heard who tried to make a flying machine crashed out after a couple of tries."  
  
"Sounds like the cautionary tale of King Darius the Incandescent," Agatha said. "His one and only ascent went out in a literal blaze of glory. At least he saved his subjects the cost of wood for cremation."   
  
"Ew." Dash stuck out her tongue. "You should just stick with taking rides with Gilda or me. No groundpounder could ever really fly."  
  
"Groundpounder." Agatha bared her teeth. "Now that's a proper challenge. Some day I shall fly just as well as you!"  
  
"And I'll coach her myself," Gilda added. "She'll make you suck her engine fumes, Raindork."  
  
"You're on, Heterodyne." Dash stuck out a hoof. "From Ponydale to Canterlot and back."  
  
"Agreed." Agatha shook hooves. "We shall meet on the airfield of honour some day."  
  
Never mind that she had no tools, no money, and no home. Never mind that she had no background at all in the aeronautical sciences. Agatha vowed that one day she would fly wingtip-to-wingtip with the cocky pegasus. _Then, she would make Rainbow Dash sweat for every inch of airspace during the race._ She would fulfill Gilgamesh's dream of flying free through the air. Agatha squelched the thought of Gilgamesh and Tarvek and the rest of her friends. She had to have completed the Si Vales before whatever happened had brought her here. She had to. There had been fragments in her dreams of late from that brief period of total communion with the infinity that was the universe. Power had flowed. Balance had begun. With her last moments before the transition, she must have completed the circuit before whatever had happened had catapulted her here. Gilgamesh and Tarvek must have been cured. To think otherwise was to fall into the deepest pit of despair.  
  
Agatha could not afford that.  
  
For some day, she or her descendent would _claw a path back through to her world_ **if it took centuries of study of the most mind-bending sciences and magics of this world TO TAKE THEIR PLACE AS THE HETERODYNE AND RESTORE MECHANICSBURG**.  
  
Rainbow Dash's bravado about her endurance was belied by increasingly-erratic wing strokes. There were spots of purple blush on the blue pony's cheeks when she finally landed on one of Cloudsdale's streets on wobbly legs. Gilda came to rest with a flamboyant flare that had Dash glare at her. Unbuckling the straps, Agatha carefully placed one hind-hoof on the blue ice of the pavement. One foreleg was tightly curled about the saddle horn while she desperately dismissed thoughts of the street cracking beneath her, sending her helplessly plunging through the clouds beneath. The hoof stayed firmly in place. Why, it felt as if she were balancing on a marble floor. She slowly settled on all fours. The magic endowed into her body by Twilight's spell granted her horseshoe-clad feet as much purchase on the slick-seeming road as the cobbles of Ponyville. Stamping one hoof hard, she grinned in wonder that she was standing on nothing more than mist.   
  
Agatha trotted alongside Gilda and Rainbow Dash with increasing confidence with each step that did not send her into the abyss. The complete lack of rails or embankments where the outward edge of the street a long plunge down to the earth only slighly discomfitted her. Anyone who had made the walk of faith on a bridge of floating stones created by Castle Heterodyne could handle that sort of thing. Instead, she lost herself in admiring the architecture of the strangest town she had ever been in bar Mechanicsburg. The Greco-Romanesque accent of domes and columns of stone-like "cloudcrete" was granted a bit of whimsy by hedges formed from clouds and fences of living rainbows. Stairways and bridges arched over gaps between the major clouds that formed the foundation of the city. Why, it was a bit like Venice or Amsterdam in the sky. All around were pegasi flying among the various levels of Cloudsdale as much as they used the streets. Agatha garnered a few double-takes upon seeing an earth pony. But there was no hint of prejudice.  
  
There were considerably more looks at Gilda. Nasty ones.  
  
The griffon did not show that she was aware of the venemous stares she attracted. The slight drooping of her wings betrayed the effect they had on her. Still, she walked on without deigning to respond to them. Agatha sighed. Clearly, the same attitude that had lead to her rupture with Rainbow Dash had had a long history behind it. The angry passerby did not press the issue. The three of them came without incident to a cloud-island linked to the main body of the city by a bridge of ice. In the middle was a gleaming building that looked as if two aluminum saucers had been stacked--the topmost upside down--on top of each other. Bands of rainbows ran about the edges of each saucer, bordering banks of windows filling the gap between. The entire affair rotated slowly upon a thick pedestal of grayish cloudcrete. Above the doors, letters picked out in flickering St. Elmo's Fire proclaimed it the Roswell Fly-In Diner. The "grounds" around the restaurant had picnic tables scattered about. Quaint airships of Equestrian design were moored to piers around the edges of the cloud-island. Pegasi in silvery dresses and clear bubble-helmets flew about with trays of food in their forehooves.  
  
"Oh boy, I can't wait to order up some grub." Rainbow Dash drooled. "I'm gonna have, like, three triple-decker Foo Fighter burgers and some cheesy hayfries and a double-thick chocolate shake and--"  
  
"Am I going to have to haul you in my talons again?" Gilda cawed. "You eat so much that you should rent out as airship ballast."  
  
"Hey, a high-speed low-drag mare like me has needs," Dash said.  
  
"Oh. I didn't bring any bits with me," Agatha said.   
  
"Nah, don't worry about it." Dash grinned. "For getting me together with my bestie again, my treat. Both of you. C'mon, this place is a blast."  
  
"Uh, might be better if I stayed outside," Gilda said. "This place and me have a little history."  
  
"Gilda, what did you do?" Dash groaned.  
  
"Worked delivery after flight school." Gilda sighed. "Might have got into a furball over a tip from this jerk customer. And, when I got fired, couple of windows might have gotten kicked out."  
  
"Awwwww. And I was looking forward to a carrot-dog dragged through the kitchen," Dash complained. "Fine. We can get something from a food cart or something."  
  
"One thing I learned, running away doesn't solve your problems." Agatha pressed a hoof to her friend's flank. "Might be this is your first chance to make amends."  
  
"Oh, great, Character building." Gilda scratched at the cloud beneath her. "I gotta?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Great."


	19. (In)Digestion

Agatha's stomach rumbled as the line slowly advanced. The column upon which the Roswell Diner rested had two staircases winding up the walls in opposing spirals. The one labeled "UP" was crowded with pegasi awaiting their turn to be seated. Everyone was salivating at the scents wafting down from above. Equestrian cooking was among the finest she had ever tasted. The freshness of the ingredients--grown on farms whose earth pony owners imbued the land with their own magics--combined with the talents of cooks with cutie marks dedicated to their specialty to produce close to Sparky results. Cookie of the Circus would doff his chef's hat and kneel at their hooves to humbly beg for their wisdom.  
  
Fortunately for their sanity, they finally emerged into the diner itself after a twenty-minute wait. Agatha was unsure whether she or Gilda would smack Rainbow Dash first after the hundredth cry of "COME OOOOOOOON!" The saucer-shaped interior of the diner was a riot of chromed steel accents and red leather. A black-and-white checkerboard on the main floor was occupied by several tables with bean-bag chairs arranged around them. By the windows were booths with leather-upholstered banquettes. On a gallery above was a circular counter of steel and formica with more swivel stools about its entire length. Both were against the two-story high windows that offered a spectacular view as the restaurant slowly rotated about.  
  
The place was full to bursting with customers. Pegasi waitresses swooped out of a square hole in the center of the ceiling to deliver platters to their impatient customers. She had been in taverns, inns, and delicatessens all over the Carpathians. Never had she seen a place as busy as this. The bustle slowly halted. Cutlery clattered onto plates. A hush fell over the Diner as everyone edged away from the three of them. The storm-grey pegasus mare with a mint-green mane at the hostess’ lectern backed away hard enough to stumble onto her haunches.  
  
Oh, dear.  
  
“Agatha! Dash!” Gilda stage-whispered. “Back me up?”  
  
“If you kick out the windows, I can provide cover fire,” Agatha whispered back.  
  
“I was going for something else.” Gilda suddenly plucked sunglasses out of nowhere and perched them on her beak. “Awright, awright, everybody settle down. No autographs and no flash photography. Nobody bothers the Lady Heterodyne.”  
  
“Yeah! Right.” Dash fluttered up into the air. “Hey, Casse, a booth for me and the lady here. She’s a big-time noble from Romanea.”  
  
Agatha sensed the crowd’s attention shifting like a lightning bolt seeking the tallest structure in an open plain.  
  
Well. As the Circus had taught her, when you start a grift you have to follow through.  
  
“Do forgive my bodyguard.” Agatha trotted to the hostess with all the stick-up-the-rear grace she recalled of Zulenna. Her Romanian accent thickened in the tones of her Madame Olga persona. “In my last performance before the Prince, he attempted shocking liberties. Poor Gilda blames herself for it.”  
  
“You performed before a prince?” The hostess’ own accent was a light Prench.  
  
“Agatha’s an elite showmare.” Dash barely held back a snicker. “You really should see her put on an act.”  
  
“My lands were lost long ago.” Agatha sighed dramatically. She shifted to her most high-class, academic French. “Only my title remains. One does what one can, in this world. Madmoiselle?”  
  
“Casse-Croute,” the hostess replied in Prench. She beamed. “We’ve never had a lady come in before. The unicorns from Canterlot stay on their air yachts.”  
  
“Pffft. Their loss. This is such an _amusant_ little place,” Agatha replied. “Rainbow Dash has been so kind to show me about since my confinement in hospital.”  
  
“ _Calvaire_ , you have been only eating hospital food?” Casse-Croute clasped her foreleg. “Come come, you must have the best we have to offer!”  
  
“Don’t worry, Casse, you know I’m good for it,” Dash said.  
  
“Unlike some.” Casse-Croute glared at Gilda.  
  
“I am aware she has had a checkered past.” Agatha imperiously forced Gilda’s beak up with a forehoof. A touch of Mother slipped into her voice. “But she has been shown the error of her ways. Hasn’t she?”  
  
“No, Mistress.” That got a gasp from the crowd. “I will not shame you, Mistress.”  
  
“See that you don’t, darling.” Agatha chided. “If you would indulge us, Madmoiselle Croute.”  
  
“Yes, madame! Right this way!”  
  
Agatha’s ears swiveled as she caught the whispered speculations of the crowd in the diner. The months spent in Master Payne’s tutelage kept her in character; the need to hide the weak sparks among them meant that the troupe often lived entire days _en stage_ under constant performance. Dash had enough of a poker face not to completely give the game away. Gilda’s act of the cool, efficient guard was convincing indeed. For her part, Agatha tried her best to imitate one of Pix’s roles: the Bohemian Aristo. The vastly more talented actress had a flair for small yet complex roles that Agatha had never quite mastered. The Bohemian Aristocrat required something of the haughtiness of a Zulenna with a sultry, knowing air of one who attended depraved Parisian cafes without batting an eyelash. Agatha had to settle for brainlessly enthusing over the plebian charms of the diner.  
  
It helped that--much as it was cruel to think--that equestrian ponies tended to be the most gullible batch of marks that Agatha had ever encountered.  
  
Gilda sat on the outside half of the banquette of the booth that Casse Croute ushered them into. She coolly surveyed the diners while Dash and Agatha scooted closer to the windows. Agatha found herself staring at the view in delight while the rainbow-maned pegasus rattled off an order that would have fed a platoon of jaegermonsters. Their booth had rotated to look out over a clear sky that revealed a landscape far greater than the view than what she had seen her first flight. Fields and forests, towns and villages, rivers and roads spread out below towards a hint of blue that had to be an ocean. Just at the limits of visibility by the seashore were the hint of high towers that had to be the great city of Manehattan. She struggled to maintain the composure of a noblemare who had seen it all at the sight of such prosperity and peace. It was a vista that a young woman who had never been outside of the Carpathians just had to gawp at even internally. This must have been what it had been like in Western Europa under the Storm King’s rule before his fall.  
  
Gilda nudged her with a smack of her tail on a flank. Casse Croute looked expectantly at her with pencil in mouth and pad in hoof. Agatha perused the menu. Most places she had been in had the day’s dishes chalked on a slate on the wall. The Roswell Diner had a wire-bound menu with the dishes depicted in colour photographs on paper laminated with some sort of polymerized film. The sheer variety on offer had her mask her indecision behind a upper-class mare’s hauteur. She finally settled on something called a Redstone Dog with Arcturan Rings and a Neptune Float. The hostess most pointedly did not take Gilda’s order. Within a few minutes, several waitresses in bubble helmets flew over bearing a platter nearly the size of a table bearing their food. Most of it ended up on Rainbow Dash’s side of the booth. The pegasus proceeded to heft a burger stacked high enough to require major reconstructive surgery for it to fit into her mouth.  
  
Agatha abandoned all pretense of nobility when seeing the bounty on her plate. The fat sausage in its poppy seed bun was buried under almost every single condiment save ketchup. Heaped beside it in a wicker basket was a ridiculous amount of fried onion rings. The Neptune Float proved to be a mug of a carbonated drink tasting of sassafras with a hefty dollop of vanilla ice-cream on top. A tear of joy dripped from one eye when she bit into the Redstone. For a vegetarian species, pony cooks could create food that tasted remarkably meaty. It was very close to what clever Europans could make from Doctor Rollipod’s meatwheat. Her world soon contracted to encounter her tongue savoring grease, sweetness, and fried things. She eventually collapsed back against the leather-upholstered back of the banquette while fanning herself with her straw hat. A check of her reflection in the mirror found that Rarity’s make-up had stayed intact against the assault, no doubt due to the fashionista’s magic.  
  
“UUUUUUUURP!” The glasses on the table rattled. Rainbow Dash patted a stomach that made her look like she was in foal. “That hit the spot. This should last me until the hoedown.”  
  
“How can you even move, let alone fly?” Agatha asked.  
  
“High metabolism. I’ll have this all burned off in an hour.” Dash flopped bonelessly. “Right after a nap.”  
  
“Oh! Gilda, here.” Agatha pushed the remains of her Neptune Rings to the griffon. “You must be starving.”  
  
“I’m good,” Gilda replied curtly.  
  
“Eat your damn fries, minion.”  
  
“Yes, mistress.” Gilda popped an onion ring into her beak. “Man, these are still awesome. Ptomane hasn’t lost his touch.”  
  
“He isn’t here. Retired.” Dash cracked open an eye. “I hear Casse Croute is the one running the place for the people who own it.”  
  
“Never thought old Ptomane would sell out,” Gilda said. “Thought he’d be behind the grill forever.”  
  
“Nah, I hear he had to. Something about getting sued.”  
  
“Sued.” Gilda’s voice went flat. “Like, say, 'cause someone decided to claw up a customer over a bad tip.”  
  
“Gilda, it is still never too late to apologize,” Agatha said softly.  
  
“It kinda is.” Dash shifted uneasily. “Ptomane passed away last year.”  
  
“He couldn’t handle it,” Casse Croute said, hovering near them with platter in hoof. She refused to look at Gilda. “He got his cutie mark working here. When he lost the diner, he just--lost heart.”  
  
“I--” Gilda wobbled to her feet. “I gotta go.”  
  
“Yes, you do,” Casse Croute said softly. “ _Mauditte oeuf_. I only allow you because of hero Dash and your nice mistress. Please. Get out, and don’t come back.”  
  
Gilda rushed out with a screech.  
  
“Oh geeze.” Dash dumped the contents of a coinpouch on the table. “Casse, take it all and put the rest on my tab for later. I got to cool down Gilda.”  
  
Agatha sadly watched Rainbow Dash rush out to seek out her friend.  
  
Minutes later, she wondered exactly how she might return to the ground.  
  
Drat.


	20. A Princely Gift

The bad news was that neither Gilda nor Rainbow Dash would be able to take her back to Ponyville. Fifteen minutes after Gilda's abrupt departure, the blue pegasus had fluttered drunkenly back to the cafe before collapsing on a picnic table outside. She was still curled up, with a red-and-white checked tablecloth for a blanket, on that same table when Agatha returned two hours later after further exploring Cloudsdale. There was no sign of Gilda. She supposed the griffon had fled back to her mountain cave.  
  
The good news was that this was not like the last time she had been trapped at high altitude. That her only support on the clouds was Twilight's spell actually was reassuring. The purple unicorn was a prodigy at magic; the spell was durable enough to last until the next sunrise. There also wasn't an annoyed tyrant after her scalp, nor was Cloudsdale overrun with insectile horrors. Reaching the ground was easy enough as paying the bits for a pegasus-drawn cab into Canterlot. From there, she and Dash could catch the afternoon train to Ponyville. She would most certainly miss much of the hoedown. Well, she was the mysterious Lady Heterodyne. Nobles were always fashionably late.  
  
Still, it would be nice if she could find a direct ride--  
  
One ear swiveled towards the north at a drone ever so slightly _wrong_.  
  
Scanning the skies, she saw an airship dropping down towards the Roswell Cafe. The envelope was a sleek white dolphin with a racing-skiff style gondola slung beneath it. She noted that it employed a propeller rather than the propulsion-fins more often found on Equestrian dirigibles. Fins, wings, and fish tails worked under the odd, childlike physics of this world. Just as a fish or bird could fly, so could their mechanical equivalents move ships through the heavens. A billowing trail of smoke accompanied by the telltale sound of an engine in distress told her it was not going far. Cries of alarm rose up when the ailing airship nearly clipped the top of the diner. It plummeted down into the cloudbank supporting the picnic area. Gouging a trail, the crash continued until it fetched up right next to her.  
  
Dash yawned before turning over on her other side to continue her nap.  
  
A stallion as large as Big Mac stood stock-still behind the spoked helm-wheel. Unlike Applejack's brother, he was a snow-white unicorn with a blonde mane that had the artfully-styled look of soneone who had ponies to attend to it like a Heterodyne's scalpel collection. His leather flight jacket was so shiny it was right out of the box. The peaked cap and flight goggles had none of the weathering that came from long use. A terrified whinny worthy of Lars escaped his lips. Then his blue eyes flicked around at the gathering crowd, with a flight of waitresses with Casse-Croute in the lead boiling out of the diner above. He immediately assumed a nonchalant posture leaning against the helm with a hoof tilting his cap just so.  
  
"Hello, all," the unicorn said, tipping a candy cigarette out of a pack. "Bit of a bother with the engine. I shall have a word with the manufacturer about their defective product."  
  
"Prince Blueblood," Casse-Croute cried out. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Any landing you can trot away from." Blueblood's horn flared. He stepped easily onto the clouds. "Have my usual brought to me with the reserved place settings. Clop-clop."  
  
"Of course, your highness." Casse-Croute nodded. "Shall I call for a tow?"  
  
Curious, Agatha clambered aboard. She popped open the engine casing.  
  
"No, toss it off the cloud." Blueblood waved at it with a dismissive hoof. "Utter rubbish. It couldn't even handle a maiden spin about the skies."  
  
"This is a Tarantella Mark Four, obviously modified for high-performance racing," Agatha said. "This is among the most expensive airship engines on the market. Rather finicky, especially if run by ponies who don't respect the redline and think the throttle is an on/off switch."  
  
"And you are?" Blueblood asked, ice frosting his words.  
  
"Someone who has more respect for fine Bitalian machinery than you," Agatha said, examining the extensive damage.  
  
"This is Lady Agatha Heterodyne," Casse-Croute said, stepping between them. "Come, prince, we have your own cloud--"  
  
"No, I am always glad to meet nobility." Blueblood sniffed. "Did you order your title out of the back of a cereal box?"  
  
"No, my ancestors gained it by sacking the palaces of princes like you," Agatha replied. "Then they would mount their victim above the gates of the town in amusingly macabre poses as a warning to others. Red fire, did you even read the manual?"  
  
Agatha became aware that the crowd had become dead quiet.  
  
"However, we now have put that behind us," Agatha told the cringing onlookers. "Now we stick with dramatics, piano playing, and emergency engine repair."  
  
"Your highness, if you would come with me?" Casse-Croute tugged hard on a foreleg.  
  
"Amusingly macabre poses," Blueblood said faintly as he was lead away.  
  
Agatha frowned. She might have been a bit harsh. Then she looked again at what had once been a new engine. No, she did not think so. Ducking down, she wriggled out of Rarity's outfit below the gunwales of the gondola. According to her fashionista friend, walking about _en naturel_ was quite normal. Stripping off ones clothes in public view was Simply Not Done. Agatha carefully folded up the clothing to avoid wrinkling it too much for searching about. Ah, there it was: one emergency repair kit that of course had not even been opened. The contents revealed a very basic set of tools, some components, and a service manual. She set aside the last before starting the repairs.  
  
Most of the work was stripping the metaphorical corpse. The late Doctor Merlot had often sent her down to the intake morgues for organ-harvesting duty when miffed. It had been the only medical procedure she had been allowed to do during her university days. She worked with a crowbar and mallet rather than scalpel and bonesaw; the procedure between tearing down the engine was similar enough to its squishier counterparts. Three-quarters she had to carry to a dumpster at the base of the diner's support pedestal. The rest was sorted into undamaged, useful, and can-be-stuck-in-probably-without-exploding-much. She idly paged through the service manual--unread, such a travesty--while her hooves tossed components into each of the three piles.  
  
The books she had read on equine arcanomechanics during her hospital stay had stressed how difficult is was for earth ponies and pegasi to work on such things. Honestly, Agatha had no idea what the big deal was. It wasn't as if this was Sparkwork. Understanding thaumic manifold injectors and aetheric flux capacitors had taken her some time to work out. She certainly had had time on her hooves during her recovery to study the subject. In the end, a circuit was a circuit and a gearbox was a gearbox. There were enough similarities between unicorn arcanomechanics and death ray construction that she could adapt the latter to the former. Agatha clenched a screwdriver between her teeth as she started.  
  
The lightest of fugues fell over her. She had to think too much about using her tools to sink deeper into the madness place. If she had been in her prime, she could have rebuilt the engine at half the weight with thrice the power. It was still enjoyable all the same. She hummed atonally around screwdriver and wrench and hammer as she resurrected the poor mechanism from its untimely demise. Every so often she paused to eat a snack or sip for a cup hoofed to her. It was all so very much like the maintenance tasks in the Circus, or assisting Adam in his smithy. Her work slowed as the memories came back. The fugue broke. Agatha dabbed her eyes with a shop rag.  
  
"Showmare, noble, and mechanic. What else can you do, Madame Agatha?"  
  
"I can do a mean goulash." Agatha looked over to Casse-Croute. "You can tell the prince I am almost done."  
  
"He called for a chariot back to his estate in Canterlot," Casse-Croute said. "For some reason, he was feeling faint."  
  
"I know I came on a little strong." Agatha shook her head. "Wanton abuse of fine machinery makes me cross."  
  
"The same with me when someone burns the eggs." Casse-Croute peered into the casing. " _Calvaire_ , you did all this in two hours!"  
  
"A simple bodge to get it running," Agatha said. "It will need many more parts and some time on the workbench before it will be anything close to fully functional."  
  
"You may as well bring it home with you," Casse-Croute said. "Send me the bills. I will pay them from the diner's accounts."  
  
"The prince will pay you back?" Agatha asked.  
  
"He owns the Roswell," Casse-Croute said.  
  
"I did not talk with him for long," Agatha said. "I did get the impression he was not the type to appreciate its cuisine."  
  
"He thinks it plebian and vulgar," Casse-Croute said. "But he paid off the bank when it was about to foreclose. We are old acquaintances, _Bleu_ and I."  
  
Casse-Croute smiled.  
  
"Old flame?"  
  
"The prince has never loved anyone but himself," Casse-Croute said. "We did grow up as foals when he fostered at the estate of the Comte des Trois-Rivieres. Greedy colt--he always snatched the cookies I baked. I demanded a kiss when I caught him."  
  
"And it became more than kisses," Agatha said.  
  
"One summer evening. Then he became prince," Casse-Croute said. "I did not want to be his _fille_ belowstairs in his household. So I came to the Roswell to help _Oncle_ Ptomane."  
  
"I guess he had one last cookie to pay for," Agatha said.  
  
"I have to return. The diner, it never sleeps." Casse-Croute nodded. "It was very interesting meeting you, Lady Heterodyne. Do come back...without Gilda, if you please."  
  
Waving farewell, Agatha watched her fly away before returning to her work.  
  
+++++  
  
A steady wind tousled a rainbow-hued mane.  
  
One violet eye opened.  
  
“Hey. Sweet ride.” Rainbow Dash stretched. “Where did you get it?”  
  
“Apparently, I have a client.” Agatha lowered the throttle until the prop was barely spinning. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Still a bit achy,” Rainbow Dash admitted. “Gilda was always better than me at long-distance.”  
  
“You’ll have a chance to stretch out.” Agatha donned a spare set of flight goggles. “I intend to baby this engine.”  
  
“Didn’t you crash the last balloon you were on?” Dash flared her wings, working out the kinks in her flight muscles.  
  
“The envelope’s sealed. Hull is good.” Agatha jerked her head. “Get on. Worst thing happens, you can fly me dramatically to safety backlit by the explosion of the crashing dirigible.”  
  
“Cool. I’m in!”  
  
“Anchor up.” Chain rattled. “Flaps set. Engine RPM....steady. And, we’re off!”


	21. Back at the Home Place

The dragon whimpered as it fled through the forest. It was a fearsome creature of scaled and fiery breath and sharpy chompy teeth. It had thought Ponyville was a helpless place to snack on unsuspecting ponies. Then it had met HER. She had set her army of cuddly wuddly devoted minions after the big mean dragon. Rabbits had gnawed off its sharp talons. Birds had pecked out one beady nasty squinty eye. Stags had heroically flung themselves against it with horn and hoof. Its big batlike wings had been shredded by hawks and falcons. Now it could only flee.  
  
The dragon shrieked when the bears ambushed it. Her loyal ursine guard wrestled it into submission. Bearhugs clamped its jaws shut so that it could not use its terrible flame of doom. The defeated dragon trembled as hoofbeats echoed about the clearing. SHE came out of the trees flanked by two direwolves. The canary-yellow fur of her muzzle was streaked with barbaric designs of woad. About her shoulders was a cloak of dragonscale with dragon fangs about its edges. Blue eyes cooled stared into its remaining own. It could not break her gaze as all its sins were read. Her lips curled in contempt. Wings flared.  
  
And then the horde of butterflies descended upon the screaming nasty big dragon to tickle it forever and ever in judgement. Fluttershy basked in the sense of peace. Agatha had been right. A mare had to own her inner warrior princess. Fluttershy continued the slow, deliberate movements of the More Cowbell kata. Yakitori was an ancient art from far Yayakistan dedicated to cultivating tranquility, serenity, and punching out the hearts of those who disturbed both. She had been practicing it ever since the course offered by Iron Will had not worked out. She chained the kata with the mantras Agatha had taught her: _be cheerful, be polite, have a plan to kill everyone you meet; you can get more with a kind word and a death ray in hoof than a kind word alone; tremble before me and obey, um, if it wouldn't be too much trouble_.  
  
Cultivating her warrior princess was a work in progress.  
  
Something scratched at her door.  
  
Dragon dragon dragon, they had sensed what she had planned for them-- and were coming--  
  
No, that was not a dragon's claws. Silly her, that was a raptor's talons.  
  
Fluttershy opened the upper half of her front door.  
  
"I hear you help vicious animals," Gilda the Griffon said. "I have no right to ask you for anything after how I treated you--"  
  
"Come in." Fluttershy opened the door wide. "Perch wherever you wish. Angel Bunny, would you fetch the special cakes for our carnivorous guests?"  
  
It was time for Warrior Princess Fluttershy to slay some dragons.  
  
Or at least gently remonstrate them until they stopped bothering Gilda  
  
+++++  
  
Applejack took in the tweed jacket with leather patches, the horn-rimmed glasses, and the bubble-pipe.  
  
"Well?" Bic Macintosh asked.  
  
"You look like prime, Grade A Idjit in that get-up," Applejack said.  
  
"Want to look smart," her brother mumbled. "College colts dress like this."  
  
"Don't have to gussy yourself up like some citified slicker," Applejack said. "You don't need to look smart. You are smart."  
  
"Nope." Big Mac hung his head. "Ain't got the learnin' or the words."  
  
"Now you're being dumb." Applejack whacked his flank with her stetson. "Agatha's got the learnin' and the jabber for both of you. You're strong and kind and calm, which is worth more than any old book knowledge anyhow."  
  
"Have a chance?" Big Mac said.  
  
"Better than if she sees you in that," Applejack replied. "So take it off, y'hear?"  
  
"Yup." Big Mac stuck the pipe in his mouth defiant. "Keepin' this, though."  
  
Landsakes, the foolishness someponies went to when they had hearts popping all around their heads. Her brother was going to be as terrible as Rarity if this kept up. Applejack thanked her lucky stars that she had never been so soppy with the colts and mares she had been with. She had met plenty of ponies she had fancied on the rodeo circuit and at hoedowns over the years. There had been plenty of fun in the dark. None of them had been the special somepony who would have loved the Acres as much as she did. Every day spent working the family farm was Hearts and Hooves Day for her. Only family mattered as much.  
  
Applejack trotted away from the farmhouse into the orchard bearing the fruit that gave the farm its name. She absently bucked an apple from a tree that could spare it. Munching it in a few bites, she expertly spat the seed into a spot that needed a new tree planted. Hooves attuned to the soil found it sweet and fertile. No wonder there as a sadness deep in Agatha. Poor mare had been uprooted by her fool of an uncle in his travelings. How could a pony know who they were if they didn't have roots deep in some home earth? Then she had been torn away from that place--what was it called, Beetleville?--by that gosh-durned Baron. That Klaus sure sounded like he needed a whuppin'. Then when she had finally come to her family's home place, Agatha had been tossed from it and her own body.  
  
Darn travesty, is what it was.  
  
The notes of fiddle, washboard, and jug came through the trees. Applejack emerged into a meadow near the foothills where Sweet Apple Acres met the mountains. Usually, hoedowns were held in the yard by the house. They were having it here for the Big Surprise. Quite a few of the folks invited for the hoedown were there bringing in the dishes baked for the potluck. Granny was by the cider kegs with cane in hoof warning off any pony who tried to tap them early. Twilight had set out a story corner for the young'uns with plenty of books. Pinkie Pie was deep in the depths of a merry-go-round tuning up the workings of its calliope. Applejack decided to double-check the party pony's mechanical work for her own peace of mind. Applebloom and her two nutty friends were galloping about with the silliest hats on their heads yelling "VE HUNT!"  
  
Applejack honestly didn't want to ask about that one.  
  
She spotted Rarity up by the mill perched in a saddle between two hills at the edge of the meadow. It was a stout stone building with a barn on one side and the miller's house on the other. In between the two was the mill above the water-wheel. A race brought water from a pond behind the mill; from beyond the wheel it flowed as a stream along the northern edge of the Acres down to the river. Rarity was sitting by the stream's bank was a green throw cushion in the grip of her magic. A needle darted in and out embroidering that shellfish mark at Agatha's throat in golden thread. Applejack settled herself down beside the high-falutin' unicorn while she worked out her worries.  
  
"Don't fret," Applejack said. "Agatha's a forgiving sort."  
  
"I never heard such hate from anyone," Rarity said. "Not even from Nightmare Moon! How could anypony think that about her own mother?"  
  
"What I heard about her momma from Twilight," Applejack said, "would have made Queen Chrysalis choke. That Mongfish mare was one bad, nasty pony."  
  
"What did Twilight say?" Rarity said. "She merely told me that Agatha had had troubles with her mother."  
  
"Twi talked to me about things that--" Applejack frowned. "Agatha left it up to her to tell us about her past. If she thought she was a danger. Twi chose me to talk it over. Didn't want to upset you or Shy or Pinkie with the bad stuff."  
  
"Agatha would never be dangerous." The needle stopped. "Yes, she can be more than a little...alarming--"  
  
"That mare has killed," Applejack said. "Put a lot of her kind in the ground when the Baron cornered her once."  
  
"Oh harmony, no wonder she is so hurt," Rarity gasped. "She must be in agony over such monstrous acts."  
  
"She ain't, Rares," Applejack said. "I get the sense she'd do it again. And may have, at that. Them humans are killers."  
  
"And you accept that?" Rarity shuddered.  
  
"Agatha ain't safe. Stories I heard from Twi, she ain't very nice when riled." Applejack tongued some pip between her teeth. "I can tell she's good. And she's lost, and needs folks and home before she gets any more lost. Maybe why she's here, so's the magic of friendship can steer her right."  
  
"Of course." Rarity sagged. "And I through my insensitivity have driven her away! How cruel of me!"  
  
"Drama were coal, you'd be able to send the Friendship Express to Saddle Marebia."  
  
"Why, thank you." Rarity preened. "I still am quite worried."  
  
"Oh, no doubt she will--"  
  
A shadow passed over them.  
  
"--drop right out of the clear blue sky." Applejack waved her hat. "Well, come on down! We've got fritters and pie waitin'!"  
  
Now this was the way to start off a hoedown.


	22. Making a Grand Entrance

This was going to be a doozy of a party.   
  
Pinkie didn't need her special sense to tell her that. Agatha would make any party a doozy. She was dooziness ponified! Laughter burbled out of the party pony's throat as she imagined the crazy fun that her new neighbour would bring. Agatha was a wild mix of surprise and invention and a teensy tiny touch of Nightmare Night scary.   
  
That was why Pinkie was making extra special sure that Agatha would have the night of her life. Pinkie misadjusted a nut in the merry-go-round just enough that it would cause problems without being dangerous. Every ride had several little mistakes. Along with them, she had scattered bits of the Cider Squeezy that Applejack thought was still in the barn. It was going to be a scavenger hunt for their guest. Who knew what Agatha would do when she found the mechanisms near the faults? It would be a surprise to everyone. Pinkie thought surprise parties were the bestest ever even if she went a little sad and crazy and ended up talking to rocks.  
  
Oooo. Oooo. OOOOOOOOO! Pinkie's entire body twitched and flopped and swished and a dozen other things. Raising her head up, Pinkie cackled in the special way Agatha had taught her when she saw the sparkmare's arrival. Agatha had come from the biggest funnest balloon ever! Bouncing over, Pinkie caught a mooring line in her teeth. Nopony knew how to handle balloons better than her. Applejack and Rarity galloped up with a lariat with one and purple ribbons floating in an aura of magic with the other. Together they snagged the airship and draw it into a clearing just off the meadow. Rarity embraced Agatha when she jumped out.  
  
"I should never have mentioned your mother," Rarity said. "Do forgive me."  
  
"Already have," Agatha replied. "I have just been a terrible mood over things."  
  
"Where'd you pick this up?" Applejack tipped back her hat. "Twilight tells me these contraptions cost sacks of bits."  
  
"Client of mine, a Prince Blueblood," Agatha said.  
  
"Applejack, darling, I seem to have run out of pins." Rarity's lips drew back in a snarl. "Fetch me a pitchfork, if you would."  
  
"NOOOOO!" Pinkie Pie leaped in front of the unicorn. "Not the balloon! It's innocent."  
  
"Blueblood, huh." Applejack spat on the ground. "Well, 'twouldn't be fair to wreck a pony's toys. And he is your first client."  
  
"Thanks for being so understanding," Agatha said.  
  
"Why I'm letting you moor it overnight before I get the pitchfork and torch, sugarcube."  
  
"We can store it in the old mill." Pinkie winked at her friends. "I have a whole bunch of empty helium tanks. We can empty the envelope and fold it right up."  
  
"I really do have to get the story about how you two met--" Agatha began.  
  
"That unchivalrous, conceited, miserable excuse for a pretense of royalty--"  
  
"--or not." Agatha edged away from the fuming fashionista. She turned to the gondola. "Dash? We're here."  
  
"Uuuugh. Airship travel's so slow." Rainbow Dash sat up rubbing her eyes with her hooves. "Hey, any of you seen Gilda?"  
  
"'Shy sent word your friend showed up," Applejack said. "Why she'll be late. Seems your friend's in a state."  
  
"I'm gonna head over." Dash stretched. "Save a pony keg of cider for me."  
  
A rainbow trail followed Dash when she sped off to the south. Pinkie Pie stayed by the dirigible while the others headed for the hoedown-to-be. She saw Agatha's ears twitch. The sparkmare drifted towards the shooting gallery whose targets were every-so-slightly jerky. Heeee! Applejack smirked before shoving her big brother towards Agatha. She already had a hoof out for the tools from the box he carried over. Pinkie rubbed her hooves together. If things went right, then maybe the hoedown would become a shivaree.   
  
A tiny sliver of metal darted forward. Pinkie whipped a donut out of the saddlebag at one flank. She heard a gasp from the bushes when the donut knocked the sewing needle off course. It curved back around to land back into Pinkie Pie's hoof. Ah-ah-ah! No popping Agatha's big party balloon! Rarity slunk from her hiding place with an abashed expression. Pinkie couldn't help but laugh over her friend's naughtiness. She tucked the donut back among the special confectionaries. There were cupcakes with contact fuses, chocolate bombs, croissants with razor edges, and several other recipes she had worked out with Agatha.  
  
Just like one of her "helium tanks" was filled with a very flammable taffy that could set set alight with a cake sparkler.  
  
Or the Pin The Tail game's darts could be coated with a special frosting.  
  
You could do so much in the kitchen to deal with the party crashers who would ruin everypony's fun.  
  
Heee. Heee. Heeeee.  
  
++++++  
  
Disaster!  
  
Catastrophe!  
  
It was a dratted inconvenience. Rarity glared at the racing airship while admiring the sleek lines and workponyship that had gone into it. Prince Blueblood had refined tastes. That was about all a mare could say about him, even one as generous as she. How foalish she had been when she had adored the Imperfect Prince. She had not read between the lines of the society columns. Rarity had been too taken in by all the galas he attended and stylish figure he cut to realize what sort of set he galloped with. The gossip columns had hinted of raucous parties and damages paid out to irate restauranteurs. She had dismissed these as the high spirits of the blood royal before meeting the real thing. Blueblood was nothing more than a playcolt!  
  
Fancy Pants was the true spirit of aristocracy of Canterlot that Rarity aspired to: refined, cultured, condescending in the best spirits of the nobility. He had forgiven her for her little masquerade out of a generosity that rivaled her own. He would have been the perfect patron for Agatha to enter Society. Agatha had the right dash of intelligence and spirit with a soupcon of exoticism to capture the interest of the unicorn aristocrats of the capital. Her foster mother had clearly instilled the rudiments of ladylike conduct. Rarity had imagined a campaign to conquer the gates of Society--with outfits designed by herself--that would place Agatha where she belonged. She had been ready to hint of Agatha's existence to Fancy Pants when _this_ happened.  
  
Well. Blueblood was a client rather than a patron. She would simply inform Agatha of the social pitfalls of doing further business with the prince. A warning to beware the prince's facile charms would come with that lecture. Rarirty smiled when she came out of the trees. Her new friend appeared to have chosen a worthier colt for the lists of love. Big Macintosh was turned out in a fine straw homburg and a burnished horse-collar. Rarity considered the meerschaum bubble pipe. It might do. Agatha and Big Mac had the guts of the peashooter gallery laid out on the turf. The huge red stallion nodded twice at Agatha"s instructions before nosing about gears and belts.   
  
"Already have a spot penciled in on your dance card?" Rarity called out.  
  
"Herr Macintosh has generously offered to be my minion for the evening," Agatha replied.   
  
"T'aint nothin'," Big Mac said. "Just helpin'."  
  
"Our dear Lady Heterodyne deserves an escort of the evening," Rarity said. "I cannot think of a finer pony than yourself."  
  
Big Mac glared at her as his coat turned even redder.  
  
"Hah, you make it sound like this is a date." Agatha paused. She leaned toward Rarity. "Is this a date?"  
  
"You have never been paid court?" Rarity replied. "The poor stallion practically has a Hearts and Hooves card pinned to a foreleg."  
  
"I have never actually had a date," Agatha admitted. "I have been proposed to, commanded to dinner, and fought monsters together. But never a date."  
  
"You had somepony propose." Rarity leaned in. "Dish. Now."  
  
"Ah, my romantic career is best symbolized by yellow warning tape and hazard warnings." Agatha blushed. "Although, well--there was this one gesture--"  
  
"A suitor made a demonstration on your behalf," Rarity said.   
  
"I guess. Gil build these amazing atmospheric ionization engines." Agatha blushed even harder. "Then he--he called down the lightning on those who threatened my town, and _shattered them like the presumptuous scum they were."_  
  
"How--" Rarity's smile became a bit strained. "How utterly dramatic."  
  
" _I bet they were finding body parts as far away as Bucarest_."   
  
"Did he present one of their skulls to you?" Rarity tittered. "Of course not, everyone knows presenting body parts as trophies of one's affections comes no earlier than the fourth date. Ha!"  
  
"As if Gil ever cared about boundaries." Agatha smiled shyly at Big Mac. "I assure you, gifting me the head of my enemy is optional."  
  
"Got this." Big Mac pushed over a small gift-wrapped box.   
  
"You shouldn't have." Agatha opened it. "A...doll?"  
  
"Mr. Smartypants." Big Mac shuffled his hooves. "Heard you get lonely. Smartypants helps."  
  
"Like my old friend Princess Stompyboots." Agatha tucked the doll into a pocket. "If you ever wish to visit, why I am sure we could all get together for a spot of tea."  
  
"Nice." Big Mac picked up a wrench. "Back to work?"  
  
"Oh yes, you are most helpful." Something gleamed in Agatha's eyes. " _Having an assistant who is hoofy with a toolbox is so freeing._ ** _Why, I have so many ideas_**."  
  
"I will just leave you two lovebirds alone." Rarity backed away.   
  
"-- ** _by the time we're done, this sucker will be able to hit Canterlot--"_**  
  
++++  
  
"Hey, Rarity." Spike tugged his bowtie straighter. "What can your friendly bartender get you? Appletini, calvados sour--"  
  
Spike took in the frazzled mane and twitching eye.  
  
"--Granny Apple's Special Reserve Horse Liniment with extra salt around the rim?"  
  
"Line them, Spikey-Wikey," Rarity said hoarsely. "And keep them coming." 


End file.
